Control
by Li'l Yahiko
Summary: Eames discovers that Arthur is a forgery of someone else, and curiosity -and maybe something else- causes him to find out who it is and why he's been buried. Mysterious Skin/Inception crossover, ArthurxEames COMPLETE
1. Prologue: Eight Things Eames Notices

**Control**

(Disclaimer: Inception is property of Christopher Nolan. Mysterious Skin is property of Gregg Araki.)

_**Prologue: Eight Things Eames Notices About Arthur**_

(One.)

It's the first thing Eames notices, one late autumn night, in the back of a bar that Eames like to eat at after work. Arthur sips at his drink and stares at other people in the bar. Quiet. Contemplative. They do this every night, but it's not until this night that Eames discovers that Arthur has begun to grow comfortable around him (which is always a feat when it's Arthur).

When he's talking, when it's drawing on late into the evening, his voice starts taking on a different lilt, a deeper tone, a lazier tone. His words slur, but not drunkenly (even though he is a little drunk).

Midwestern.

Eames picks up on it the third night that he hears it. (Eames is an expert on these things, since he's the forger.)

Arthur notices him staring, furrows his eyebrows. "What?" he asks, terribly coherent, as if he knows what is wrong.

"Nothing, love," Eames replies, and he assumes that it is such.

(Two.)

One afternoon, Eames is late for work, so he's right on time for himself. Eames and Arthur have not worked together since the inception, so he's quite pleased to be in business with him again. Arthur is a lot of fun to try and figure out, not like all the others.

He finds Arthur hunched under his desk, padding the ground with his hands. By the time Eames is close enough, the point man appears to have found what he was looking for.

He notices Eames too suddenly to stop himself, and he looks up, and one of his eyes is the strangest color blue that Eames has ever seen.

Arthur says nothing when he cleans off his brown contact lens and slips it back into his eye.

(Three.)

The night before going after the mark, Eames and Arthur have to share a hotel room. Eames makes jokes, and Arthur mutters annoyed sounds under his breath (typical). It's cold as hell outside, and the hotel room is dingy on a good day.

Arthur, who seems like the type to hate the nastiness of public places, seems surprisingly fine with it, almost as though he's used to it.

Eames flips channels for a while, and Arthur sets a pressed suit out for tomorrow before crawling into bed wearing the one he's already got on.

Eames is concerned, watching Arthur sink into the bed at midnight, only to hear him get up at four o' clock to iron the suit he slept in and replace his contact lenses. He's already dressed when he irons.

It's almost as if Arthur has convinced himself that if he were to take his clothes off, he wouldn't be Arthur anymore.

(Four.)

Arthur stares at the mark with controlled horror and disdain, an emotion that an inexperienced person wouldn't even notice. He swallows hard and says, "It's nothing" when Eames asks. Then, they're in his dream, so they need to act fast.

Eames has taken on the form of the man's wife, and Arthur sits at the bar, keeping watch, making sure of everything, like he always does.

The mark bypasses Eames completely, as if he wasn't there, and Eames is shocked to see him take a seat next to Arthur, mumbling something to him.

Arthur shakes his head and won't look at the man.

Eames watches the man touch Arthur's shoulder in an intimate way, and Arthur clocks him.

The projections swarm them like wildfire.

(Five.)

Arthur is tearing through the airport, walking a pace so brisk and full of anger that people unconsciously move out of the way for him without ever meeting his eyes.

Eames nearly has to run to keep up with him. How Arthur can carry his bags and move so fast is beyond him, but Eames has never been as neat a packer as Arthur and was fortunate enough to pack all of his things in a bright yellow duffel bag that Arthur hates. He's carrying the PASIV because Arthur won't even go near it.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Eames finally manages to half-gasp, half-shout when he gets close enough.

"It was fuckin' bullshit is what it was!" Arthur growls right back before stumbling to a complete halt. Eames knows Arthur notices this time.

He tries to regain his control and composure, taking a few deep breaths through his nose, and Eames can feel him hoping that Eames doesn't notice things like that (He does).

"It was…" he annunciates. He annunciates so much. "It was too far. I… just…"

"Lost your cool?" Eames offers, and then he feels that he's at risk to be punched as well.

Arthur straightens his coat, even though it's perfectly fine, and he works his jaw. He wonders if Arthur has always grinded his teeth. He has never noticed that.

(Six.)

Arthur most definitely grinds his teeth.

(Seven.)

Arthur also never showers when there are other people staying in his hotel room. On the next job, Eames hears him freshening up in the sink at work.

He always locks the bathroom door.

This job is also a disaster, but only because the extractor sucks.

(Eight.)

"I was only eight years old."

That's the only thing Eames hears when Arthur mumbles in his sleep.


	2. 1: Zipper

_**Chapter 1: Zipper**_

There were times in Mombasa, Rome, Paris, Hong Kong, and Tokyo that Eames often thought of Arthur. He didn't think about him like the other boys (and sometimes girls) he'd occasionally think of. There was never (well, not _never_) sexual desire behind his thoughts, only genuine curiosity.

He'd become thoroughly convinced that there was a zipper on the back of Arthur's head, hidden beneath his hair, and if one were to pull the zipper down, it would travel down his neck, down his spine, and out would step a Not-Arthur with a Midwestern tongue and blue eyes.

Rethinking, Eames began to decide that he had not thought much of Arthur at all, but instead of Not-Arthur. This Not-Arthur was as complex and vague as Arthur, but while Eames had seen quite a lot of Arthur, Arthur had only allowed little fragments of Not-Arthur to slip out on occasion when he was angry or a little drunk or half-asleep. Eames had not clearly seen Not-Arthur, only visualized him inside his head, and even then it seemed he was distorted through clouds of smoke. Eames couldn't wipe away the image of Arthur and start fresh, no matter how hard he tried. From that realization, he began to realize that Arthur had a haunting visage, all sharp angles and straight lines. Robotic, asexual, unsmiling. When he'd first met him, he'd thought he was boring. Intelligent, crafty, skilled… but dull and plain as the suits he wore. Now, now he couldn't help but see a storm building behind his faux-brown eyes, and he began to wonder if Not-Arthur was fighting to get out of Mr. Mundane's skin.

It wasn't too much to say that Eames started obsessing over Not-Arthur, even going so far as to try to forge him in his dreams… but it was never him. It was always Arthur in his pressed, tailored suits and slicked back hair and stony visage. He'd even attempted to look up information on the man, like he did with the people he often impersonated (particularly if they were famous), but that had only made him realize that he didn't know Arthur's last name. He called Cobb… He resorted to calling Cobb… but he didn't answer.

A flight to Paris later, he had lunch with Ariadne. He told her nothing of Not-Arthur because this was his puzzle to solve, and he didn't want to hear a bunch of questions he couldn't answer, for fear of them inevitably plaguing him. He did bring up the subject of his last name, though, only to get a long stare from her, a slight laugh, and a "You know, I never realized it, but I have no idea."

Miles didn't know either.

Eames didn't bother asking anyone else, and for awhile, he managed to forget about it, except for the occasional nights where he'd lay alone in bed and come up with names, mostly to entertain himself.

As funny as Arthur Darling was, he was pretty sure that wasn't it.

* * *

It had been three months since Arthur and Eames had seen or heard from each other, so Eames was more than a little surprised when he received a phone call from him in the middle of the night.

"…'Ello?" Eames had grumbled into the phone, voice heavy with sleep and bewilderment.

"Hello, Mr. Eames."

Eames couldn't hold back the small smile, despite the fact that he'd only crawled into bed two hours ago after a night of barhopping. "Hello, Mr… You know, I don't believe I know your last name."

"Arthur's fine," he said curtly.

Of course it was. "Glad to see you want to be so familiar with me, darling."

He heard Arthur snort on the other side of the phone. "Where are you right now?"

"London."

There was a beat of silence where Eames could picture Arthur checking his watch. "I apologize for waking you, then."

"I hope you intend to make it up to me," Eames teased. "I'm sure I could think of something for you to-"

"The job I'm working on needs a forger. I told everyone that you were the best, so I was hoping you'd be interested."

Eames yawned. "What do I have to do?"

"We're meeting in New York City first thing tomorrow. I can email you all the information, if you like. You'll be imitating the mark's dead father."

"Fun."

"I had a feeling you'd enjoy that."

Eames laid back down, watching the ceiling fan spin above his head. "It'll take me a few days to get there. I've got to book a flight, and I promised I'd visit my mum."

"Anything you'll need to know will be in the files I send you. You can read them on the plane ride if you have to. Just be here as soon as you can. We only have a small window of time to accomplish this, and after the last couple of disasters…"

"_My_ last job was successful."

"Good for you."

"I'll be there by Friday at the latest. Please don't write your files in such a small font that I need a magnifying glass."

"You can adjust the font size on your computer, Eames."

"So can you."

"I'll see you when you get here."

"I'm so looking forward to it."

"Go to sleep, Mr. Eames."

Eames didn't question why he'd accepted the job without knowing the pay. Maybe curiosity liked to do some rather vile things to cats, but Eames was no cat. He couldn't resist the temptation of bringing out Not-Arthur again.

* * *

He was still Arthur when they met at the airport. His hair was just as slick, his suits just as pressed and tailored, and his handshake just as stiff. He did look thinner than he remembered though and much more exhausted.

The sunlight was harsh and bright out on the street while Arthur hailed a taxi. "You simply must take me out to lunch for this, Arthur," Eames told him, staring at the back of his head. No sign of that zipper. "I'm sure you're much more familiar with New York than I am. I'm more of a Vegas man."

"I haven't been to New York for longer than a layover in years," Arthur replied, and his gaze was faraway from him, from the city, from everything.

"Is that so?" Eames asked, crawling into the taxi behind the point man. "Not your favorite place?"

Arthur didn't look at him. His voice came out quiet and very, very low. "No."

* * *

The extractor was a French man named Barrett. He was friendly, though a bit strict, and hard to understand when he spoke English. Arthur had learned French somewhere in his travels, so he had no issues speaking with him.

Eames wasn't too fond of him. He was too tall (and his pants were too short), too old (and his style showed it), and he had absolutely no imagination. He did have some rather delightful Cuban cigars though, so Eames was willing to deal.

The architect for the dream was a mousy blonde who didn't seem to be interested in talking to anyone. She'd simply stare at people over the rims of her glasses and speak to them in short bursts of dialogue, preferring to spend her time listening to rather obnoxious music and chew gum.

Yusuf was working as the chemist on this one, which was one thing Eames was grateful for. There was too much 'nerd' in the room.

Work commenced. They worked from six in the morning to ten at night, doing all they could to be ready in the two week period they had.

It was only on the night before the job that Eames managed to drag Arthur out alone to the bar after work.

"So," Eames said, taking a bite out of the hot wings he ordered, "how are things?"

Arthur gave him a long stare over his glass of whiskey, as if he was trying to figure out the angle Eames was getting at. "Busy," he decided on.

"Seems that way. You look absolutely buggered."

Arthur shrugged, sipping at his drink the way he had done the night Not-Arthur had first come out. "I haven't had much sleep, no…"

Eames licked his fingers, and Arthur grimaced a little. "What's keeping you up at night? Bad dreams?" he teased.

"Not exactly."

He didn't elaborate any further.

Arthur drank heavily that night, to the point that Eames had to carry him on his back all the way to his apartment. He mumbled something like "Coach" but Eames couldn't be sure.

He definitely said "Brian" though.

Eames wondered if Brian was Not-Arthur's name.

* * *

The job went off without a hitch, even with Eames feeling slightly distracted and Arthur hung over.

Yusuf was gone as soon as the job was completed, rushing off to some other job, and Eames cared nothing about the other two. Arthur was heading out the next morning to "anywhere but here," so Eames decided to stick around him as long as he could to find more information about Not-Arthur.

"Let's get supper to celebrate," Eames suggested, throwing an arm around Arthur's bony shoulder as they stepped out into the icy air. "I'll buy."

"I'm really not all that hungry."

"It's our last night together for awhile. Don't you want to go out in style?"

"Not particularly."

"What's the matter?"

Arthur stared up at the tall skyscrapers piercing through the night sky, and he couldn't see the stars. "I hate this city."

"Well, then we'll go somewhere else," Eames said. "We can hop a plane and head out to the countryside. I hear the Midwest is nice here."

"Maybe if you like long expanses of dead nothing… especially in the winter."

"You hate the Midwest too?"

Arthur dug in his pocket and produced a cigarette that he lit and sucked on before responding. "It's boring."

"Should be perfect for you, then."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't have a good time."

"True."

They walked in silence for a little while, Arthur taking long drags on the cigarette with absolutely no shame.

"I had no idea you smoked."

Arthur glanced at Eames, as if not registering what he had said. "O-oh… No. I don't. I did. I quit… I started again."

"No need to defend yourself, love," Eames said, taking the cigarette from between his fingers and placing it to his own lips. "Everyone has their vices and sins."

* * *

Morning was gray and snowy. Eames woke up on Arthur's couch. His back was slightly sore from carrying him home again.

Arthur was already packing when Eames leaned in the doorway. "You know, normally when I come back to someone's apartment, I don't do it to sleep on their couch."

Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin, falling backwards from his suitcase on the floor where he'd been balancing. "E-Eames."

Apparently he hadn't even known he was there. "I shouldn't be surprised. You _were_ unconscious."

"Sorry… I can't hold my liquor well."

"No one handles that amount of liquor well. Something bothering you?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"No one drinks like that without a problem."

Arthur slammed his suitcase shut and latched it. "I'm fine."

Eames caught him by the arm as he tried to storm out. "I'm not asking out of concern if that's what's upsetting you. I'm just curious as to what's got your feathers ruffled."

"I… I am…" he averted his gaze, licked his teeth. "I'm fine. Everyone has their off days, y'know…I just wanna get outta this city."

Not-Arthur.

Eames shrugged, releasing him. "Well, you may not know where to find me, but you have my number. Let me see you off at least? I've got my own ticket to purchase."

Arthur reluctantly agreed.

* * *

Flight delay.

Because of snow.

"Fuck," Arthur whispered, staring at the screens as if he could mentally change them.

It was snowing heavily outside by the time they had reached the airport, and two hours didn't show it letting up any.

"Shame," Eames agreed, though he was much less agitated over the whole scenario. He'd spent enough nights in airport terminals to be used to it by now. "Not much we can do about it though. Want to ride back to your apartment and wait out the storm?"

Arthur wasn't listening, gaze locked on something far across the airport… no, someone.

A girl.

She was on her phone, not noticing him at all, and Eames thought that he would have liked her to notice him as well. She was pretty, almost devastatingly pretty, eyes lined with dark eye shadow and plump lips painted red. When she smiled at the person on the other end of the line, there was a flash of long white teeth, a perfect smile. Her hair was dyed a dark color, as evidenced by her slightly blonder roots, and tied back tight on her head. Her ears were pierced several times, as well as her nostril, and she had long black fingernails and three rings on her left hand (all but her ring finger as if out of defiance). There was a silver necklace gleaming around her neck, but she was too far away for him to make out what it was. Her clothes were all black, like she'd just come from a funeral, but far too casual for such a thing.

"Didn't know you were into punk girls," Eames mentioned to Arthur. Arthur had blanched. "She's quite fit though. Want me to chat her up for you?"

"No. What? I… wasn't even…" he stammered.

"Sure you were. I'm not blind, Arthur, love. You were looking at her."

"Well, I'm not interested. You can hook up with her if you want, but I'm out of here."

Eames turned to object, but Arthur was already making his way across the airport, disappearing into the crowd with ease.

"All right, I will!" Eames shouted after him, and he saw Arthur's shoulders tense up, saw him contemplating turning around to stop him.

After all, the way he had looked at her made it obvious that they knew one another, or that he at least knew her. Ex-lover? Perhaps. All Eames cared about was whether or not she knew who he was under his skin.

He could feel Arthur watching him from halfway across the airport as he approached the girl and casually bumped his shoulder against hers, causing her to drop her phone just as she was hanging it up.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed, reaching down and picking it up for her. "I spent the night on a couch and…" He plastered on his most charming smile, feigning exhaustion. "I should have been paying attention."

"It's all right," she replied somewhat warily, and Eames picked up a distinct Midwestern accent. "This phone's a piece of shit anyways."

"I guess if I had caused you to break it I would have had to buy you a new one."

The left corner of her mouth quirked up. "I could still throw it and blame it on you… Wendy." She held her hand out to him. Eames never understood the point of fingerless gloves.

"Peter," Eames replied. "It's destiny! I thought you were supposed to be the Brit though."

She laughed. "Is that your real name?"

"It could be. Most people call me Eames though." Normally he wouldn't give out his real name, but he decided that there was no harm in it this time. He was pretty sure by the stitching in her clothes and the self dye job, that she was not someone he'd be hired to extract secrets from anytime soon.

"Well, nice to meet you, Mr. Eames. Where y' headed?"

"Nowhere, according to the flight delays."

"No kiddin'," she said, shifting her bag from one hand to the other. "I was headin' home for Christmas because for once my folks actually want me there, and I get stuck at the airport."

"I was headed home too. I'm sure your flight will still be remarkably shorter… that is, unless you'd rather hop a plane to jolly old England with me."

She plopped down on one of the many available benches. "As tempting as getting away from everything sounds, I'm not young enough to trust some guy I just met. You're cute though, I'll give you that."

"We Brits are known for our charm, my dear Wendy. Care to get to know me a bit better?"

"Sit down," she replied, smiling. "It's a hell of a lot better than sittin' here by myself."

He did and made a passing glance towards the place where he remembered Arthur had been, and he was stunned to see that he was still standing there as if rooted to the spot. He looked as though he was ready to maul Eames to death, but also envious of him (just a little)… and something else.

What that was, Eames could only guess at.

"Somethin' wrong?"

"No, no," Eames said, turning back to her with a smile. "I just thought I saw someone I knew, my friend Arthur."

He waited, hoping for the name to spark something in her memory, but nothing of the sort happened. "He travels like you do?"

"We work in the same business."

"What would that be?"

"I'm a photographer."

"That's cool. Do you like, photograph bands and stuff?"

"Sometimes." He tried to remain vague, since he truthfully knew next to nothing about photography.

"That's cool. Way more glamorous than anything I ever did," she said, fishing a cigarette out of her leather jacket. "Right now, I'm a manager at a restaurant, and I volunteer at a clinic, and in my free time I'm trying to become an author. It's not really happening. Are we allowed to smoke in here?"

Eames shrugged. "What do you want to write about?"

"That's the problem. I don't know, really… Every time I sit down to start on somethin', it turns into a story about Neil… Oh, sorry, you don't know who that is. Neil was a friend'a mine years ago. A real ass, but he had this power to influence everything you did."

"Well, why don't you just write about him then?"

"His secrets aren't for me to share with the world. There's a reason they're secrets."

"Well, you said he _was y_our friend, so that means he's not anymore. Why would you care?"

"It's not that I don't consider him my friend anymore," Wendy said, digging out her lighter. "He disappeared a long time ago, an' I haven't heard from him since."

While she lit the cigarette, Eames looked back to Arthur, but he was gone.

"Still think you see 'im?" she asked with a hint of humor in her voice.

Eames grinned back at her. "I suppose so. He's hard to miss. He's generally so dapper and posh that he's easily noticed in a crowd. Slicked back hair, suits, and the like."

"Sounds like a real fucker," Wendy chuckled, smoke escaping from between her teeth.

"He is. Got a stick up his arse so far that he coughs up pieces of bark."

She burst out laughing.

"Yeah, Arthur's a bore. Tell me about Neil."

"Um.. If it's okay, I'd really… I'd rather not…" Her voice began to sound sad, laughter dying away quickly. "It makes me miss 'im too much… even if the big jerk doesn't deserve to be missed. Thinks he's so goddamned superior to everyone else and that everything should revolve around him…"

"Sounds like a real fucker," Eames repeated.

"No fuckin' kidding… but he sucks you in, you know, with that black hole heart of his. You can't help but worry about him, at least I can't… He was my best friend. I thought it was my job to take care of 'im. God knows he couldn't take care of himself…" She dug in her purse for a minute before pulling out her wallet. She handed Eames her cigarette while she opened it and pulled out a crinkled, faded, old photograph.

Eames coughed on the smoke, passed it off that he hadn't smoked in awhile.

"That's him," she told him, pointing to the man on the left. "That's Neil, and his best friend Eric, and me of course, way back in the old days. God, was I ever that young?"

"Could I get your number?"

She blinked. "Huh?"

"I like you," Eames replied, smiling in order to hopefully hide that all the blood had drained from his face. "I was wondering if I could get your number?"

"Um, sure, I guess," she said, beaming, charmed. It was probably the accent.

But he couldn't take his eyes off of that picture. He held it while she dug in her purse for something to write on and something to write it with.

The boy in the picture may have been dressed casually, and his eyes may have been blue, and he may have had an earring, but there was no denying that face. He hadn't aged a day, it seemed, squinting into the camera with his arm around the neck of his friend. He hadn't appeared to notice the picture was being taken in enough time to smile, and part of him was hidden by Wendy's thumb where she had held the camera out to get all of them.

Eames mouthed the word "Arthur." But it wasn't Arthur, he reminded himself. What had she called him? Neil.

"Dammit, I don't think I have a pen. Do you?"

He looked up blearily. "What?"

"You got a pen?"

"Oh… Yes… I think so…" he padded his chest and pulled one out of his breast pocket. "Here."

He'd completely forgotten what she needed it for but accepted the phone number written on the back of an old receipt with a smile.

"You look like you saw a ghost or somethin'," she mentioned with a smirk as she took the picture back from him.

Eames swallowed and found his ability to lie suddenly betraying him. His whole life he'd been able to rattle off a falsehood without so much as a blink; with his job, he'd perfected the technique to the point that people could become convinced without any effort on his part. It was all about how he sold it in his eyes… but today, his eyes just weren't selling.

"Mr. Eames?" she questioned, eyebrows knitting together.

He swallowed again, mouth unbearably dry. "Your friend."

She looked at the picture and back at him. "Yeah?"

"I've seen him."

He was sure she heard him, but she still asked, "what?"

"Your friend. Neil. I've seen him. I know who he is."

* * *

Eames found Arthur in a Starbucks, staring into a drink that he had obviously not touched.

"There you are," Eames said, taking a seat across from him.

Arthur looked up, looking nearly hung over. "If I'd known you were looking, I would have been more inconspicuous."

Eames just laughed and drank out of Arthur's cup. He figured that since Arthur wasn't drinking it, he might as well. "Well, I got that dishy punk girl's number." He showed it to Arthur to prove it. "She has an apartment here in the city and everything, so I may have somewhere to stay tonight should we be stuck here."

"Congratulations," Arthur replied flatly. "Have fun with that."

"Her name's Wendy. Isn't that a sweet and innocent name, Wendy? Not what you'd expect from a girl like her."

Arthur shrugged, only halfway paying attention… or at least giving off the impression as such. Eames could tell by the stiffness of the fist he was leaning his cheek on that he had his full attention.

"She's a pistol, that's for sure… but… you already knew that."

"Why would you suggest such a thing?" Arthur asked, deadpan, but there was just the slightest tremble in his voice.

"Well, I got the inkling that you must have known her, the way you were staring at her earlier. Ex-girlfriend?"

"She certainly is not. She just… sort of looked like an ex-girlfriend of mine." Arthur was not as good a liar as Eames was.

"That's bizarre," Eames replied.

"How is that weird? That you and I would have even a remotely similar taste in women?"

Eames chuckled. "But of course, darling… but I was a bit more confused over the fact that she had a photo of you. Neil."

Arthur met his eyes, stared at him with an unreadable expression. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play daft with me," Eames replied, suddenly serious. It seemed to throw Arthur off slightly.

"I'm not playing daft with anyone. I honestly have no idea what you're talking about. Who's Neil?"

"If you're going to lie, at least do a good job," Eames responded, growing frustrated. "She has a photo of you, and I know it was you. I would know your face any day of the week, regardless of your outfit."

Arthur paused, glaring at Eames, debating. Finally, he sighed, defeated. "You didn't tell her that I was here, did you?"

"No."

Arthur exhaled through his nose. "Don't."

"Why?"

"Because if I had wanted to be found, I would have talked to her myself."

"Yes, I understand that. What I don't understand is why you don't wish to be found. Care to enlighten me, Arthur? Or should I call you Neil?"

"Neil is dead," Arthur replied darkly.

Eames raised his eyebrows and took another swig on the coffee. It had no sugar or crème in it whatsoever, and it had started to get cold, but he needed to do something. "Care to elaborate?" he finally asked.

There was a voice echoing over the com system in the airport. Arthur looked at Eames. "No, I do not. Goodbye."

And he stood, straightened his jacket, and left.


	3. 2: Charades

_**Chapter 2: Charades**_

Eames had told Wendy nothing of Arthur, only that he'd seen him on one of his photography jobs, working as an assistant. She had rounded on him then, grasping his shirt in her fist, begging him to tell her if he was okay, when he saw him, where he was. He had apologized and shook his head, claiming that he didn't completely remember, but, when her eyes welled up with tears, he assured her that he had the number of the person Neil was working for, and he'd get in touch with him and see what he could find out.

He wished he hadn't said anything in the first place, but there wasn't enough patience in Eames's personality to feel guilt for long. He decided that the reason why he had mentioned it at all was in the hopes of learning more about Not-Arthur… Neil. He just wanted to know. That was all.

Wendy forced his cell number out of him (at least one of them), and by then her plane was boarding, and she had to run to make it to the gate.

When Arthur had marched off, Eames seriously considered following him, but he decided against it, instead leaving the airport and renting a hotel room.

In the room alone, he dug out the laptop that he hadn't used since he read Arthur's tiny notes on the flight over, and he began researching what he could, deciding the answers would likely come easier from the internet, rather than from Arthur.

Neil McCormick.

His original search came up empty, as he expected. Arthur knew how to cover his tracks.

A little hacking, however surprisingly, brought up nothing as well. That wasn't something he'd expected at all. A high school diploma, a police record… something… anything… Surely there was a reason Neil McCormick felt the need to disappear and create a new persona, but he couldn't find _anything_.

His stomach rumbled, and he realized he'd been sitting at his laptop for a good five hours. He ran a hand through his hair and decided to take a shower and get something to eat.

* * *

Considering how Arthur was the best in his field, and Eames the best in his, it was only a matter of time before they were hired on the same job again.

It was June, in Madrid, Spain. Eames had stepped into the abandoned apartment building that the team was using with his pastel green shirt sticking to him and his hair to his forehead and found Arthur staring open-mouthed at him as though he'd just risen from the dead.

They had apparently failed to inform Arthur that Eames would be coming.

"Hello, darling," Eames greeted.

Arthur was red-faced from the heat (the building didn't have air-conditioning), shirt unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up, and tie hanging unknotted around his neck. Greasy pieces of his hair were starting to loosen and fall from his usual slicked-back style.

Eames could hardly believe that Arthur was still wearing a suit in the godforsaken heat. It was so fucking hot outside that he could hardly breathe, and Arthur had even worn a blazer in (it was currently tossed over the top of his chair). He was reminded of how Arthur slept in his suit, however.

His waistcoat, slacks, tie, and blazer were the bars he kept Neil behind, Eames had decided that much. Now, all he wanted to know was why.

It didn't take long until Arthur spoke to Eames, off in their own corner while their extractor had left to purchase a fan to put in the apartment (if they were to buy a window unit, as wonderful as it would feel, they would be compromising their location if anything on the outside of the building were to change).

"Don't ask me any fucking questions, you got that?" he said in a low voice, not looking at him directly.

"Well, that's not going to be very easy. Your friend Wendy has been ringing me every day," Eames replied, sounding rather amused with himself, loosening a third button from his partially unbuttoned shirt.

"I don't care. She's not my friend."

"She is, and you do care."

Arthur huffed, frustrated. He didn't look like he'd been eating well, and the bags under his eyes were just as bad as they had been in New York. "I don't have time for this," he mumbled, marching away, but Eames stopped him this time.

"Look," he stated firmly which forced Arthur to look him in the eyes, "I don't really care about your life or what you do with it, but you have to admit that it's not really fair to me to keep it secret. You claimed that Neil is dead, but I've seen him for myself, and those were your slip-ups, not mine."

Arthur was breathing heavily through his nose, staring at Eames with an almost pained expression. He couldn't seem to think of what to say.

He decided on, "Fine. I'll make sure not to slip up again." Arthur made a move to leave, but Eames didn't let go of his arm.

"Are you trying to starve him to death? Are you trying to kill him with sleep deprivation? Just tell me why."

"Why what?" His voice trembled, just slightly.

"Why everything."

He managed to yank his arm away. "Even if you think so, Mr. Eames, it's none of your goddamned business."

"Um… 'scuse me?"

Both of them turned, gasping as though they had been physically fighting because of the thickness of the air between them.

The architect was that same annoying, mousy blonde. She stared at the two of them in annoyance over her glasses and said, "Sorry to interrupt… whatever you're doing, but I've got the maze prepared for your part of the dream, Eames. Care to take a look?" The way she said it made it sound like they were nothing more than an inconvenience to her, and Eames felt the urge to swat her.

Instead of doing that, he reminded himself that he _was_ in the middle of a job, glanced back at Arthur, and said, "We'll talk later."

"No, we won't," Arthur replied stiffly and returned to his desk.

* * *

It turned out that they didn't really need to talk. After going through the maze several times, the extractor asked Eames to try it out and for Arthur to go under with him. Arthur had objected until the extractor asked why.

The city Eames created based on the architect's design was massive and tall, reminiscent of New York, though not quite. It was close enough to make Arthur uncomfortable, standing in the middle of an intersection, alone with Eames.

Arthur's projections filled the sidewalks, and the two dreamers quickly moved out of the street to avoid traffic.

"Lead the way," Arthur told him, folding his arms across his chest. They were both wishing that the heat didn't transfer down to the dream, but it did.

"But of course," Eames said and threw an arm around Arthur's shoulder. The point man tensed.

"Eames," he warned.

"Neil," Eames replied as if he had spoken to a misbehaving child.

Arthur's face flushed with anger, and he seemed about ready to storm off screaming. His hand lingered over the lapel of his jacket, where his gun was most certainly tied to his ribs. His eyes darted off to the other side of the street, and he exhaled. "Just let it go, Eames…"

Eames followed his gaze. Across the way was a blonde boy in thick glasses, scribbling in a notebook. He was almost stereotypically geeky in appearance, but there was detail in the sweater on his shoulders, in the gleam on his glasses, that lead Eames to believe that he wasn't just a passerby that formed in Arthur's subconscious. He knew the boy personally… the detail, the sheer amount of it was proof that this boy's image had been burned into Arthur's memory forever.

"Come on, Eames, we don't have time for you to stare off into space. Let's hurry and get this over with. I have work to do."

The projection glanced up because it felt Eames's stare. The look on his face was hopeless, and he had a bloody nose.

Arthur grabbed Eames by the arm and dragged him away. "Eames," he commanded, quiet but intense.

"Who is he?" Eames asked quietly.

"He isn't real. He's a projection, so he's no one."

Arthur was walking briskly, dragging Eames by the wrist, glaring him down over his shoulder with all the force he could. Eames saw a waver in his eyes though, something desperate, but when he opened his mouth to say something about it, Arthur slammed right into a projection.

He turned and started apologizing purely out of instinct, but his sputtering was put to a stop when he looked at the man's face.

He wasn't a bad looking man, not terribly old but not terribly young, with blonde hair, moustache, long white teeth, and a baseball cap. Eames would have paid more attention to the ridiculous amount of detail Arthur put into this projection, from the slight crookedness of his teeth to the tiniest moles and freckles, had he not been staring at the look of sheer horror on Arthur's face.

"What happened to you?" the projection asked.

Arthur gasped for air, as if his lungs wouldn't accept it, looked back at Eames, back at the man, back at Eames, down at his feet.

"No, don't-" was all Eames managed to get out before Arthur put the pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Arthur quit the job.

Eames didn't see him again until the job was over, a month later, in the hottest part of July. A friend of a friend had found the point man's location to be in L.A. It turned out that Arthur hadn't covered his tracks too well this time around, and Eames felt foolish for paying someone to find his location when he easily could have found it on his own.

When Arthur answered the door, Eames's brow furrowed, and there was no hello on his lips. Arthur looked, for lack of a better word, terrible. He was in his slacks, an undershirt, and suspenders, hair hanging in his eyes. He hadn't appeared to have slept in days, and he was much too thin. There was a cigarette between his fingers.

"I was wondering how long it would be before you came after me," Arthur mumbled, leaning his forehead against the doorframe.

"Arthur… Good Lord. You look right dreadful." There may have been sympathy in his voice.

Arthur just stared at him, eyes watering a bit from the smoke around his face. He swallowed and stepped back from the door. "Come in. You're just going to stand there otherwise."

Eames shrugged and stepped inside. He watched Arthur carefully, afraid he was going to collapse, as he shut the door behind him. "You haven't been working," Eames said, unable to think of anything else to say.

"I can't," Arthur replied, flopping down on a lumpy couch and lifting the cigarette to his lips.

"Elaborate?"

Arthur sighed, smoke spilling from his mouth and nose like it was his soul being released. The ashtray on the coffee table was a graveyard of at least twelve more cigarettes. "It's all your fault, you know. You just wouldn't let it go. If you hadn't said anything at the job, then _he _wouldn't have been down there, and now that I've seen him, it's fresh on my mind, and it's drivin' me fuckin' nuts."

"I don't see how it's my fault, but then again, I don't really understand."

"Before…" Arthur started and stopped. Eames stood awkwardly behind the couch while Arthur puffed on his cigarette. It seemed like forever before he started again. "Before… you asked me if I was trying to kill Neil."

"It seems fairly obvious to me."

"I thought I had. I just wanted to completely… forget that life and just be Arthur and… just bury Neil so deep that he suffocated and died… but you just couldn't let me do that, could you. You and your goddamned curiosity."

Eames took a seat next to him then. "I appreciate that you think I hold that much power over you, but I don't. You can't blame it on me."

Arthur rubbed his eyes with the balls of his hands. "You're right… I know that, but…"

"I know. Human nature, and all that. You want to find someone to blame for your problems so you don't have to face yourself."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at that and neither confirmed nor denied it.

"Would you mind if I gave my opinion?"

"Might as well."

Eames paused, pursing his lips, and then said, "you need to face your past. Quit running from it, mate. That's the only way you're going to be able to move passed it. Regardless of how much you do, you're still Neil, after all."

Arthur's shoulders slumped. "It's not that simple. My past is… complicated. I don't want to think about it anymore."

Eames took Arthur's cigarette and took a puff off of it. "Listen to me, darling. I know for a fact that this charade you've got going isn't going to hold water. Ever. As a forger, I know you can become whoever you want, however… at the end of the day, it's a forgery, and you're going to have to be yourself again."

Arthur stared at the wall for a long time.

"If you ever want to go back to work, you're going to have to do something about it, right?"

Arthur stood, adjusting his shoulders. When he spoke, his voice was distinctly Midwestern. "I guess I'm gonna have to book a flight to Hutchinson."

* * *

Eames decided to go with him. Arthur didn't protest.

They met at the airport, Arthur as Arthur with his slicked back hair and suits… except that his eyes were blue. Eames was in a turquoise shirt with white pin-stripes and matching white slacks, and Arthur wasn't too tired to roll his eyes at him.

They sat silently on the plane for awhile, Arthur focusing on his hands, seeming to check and make sure they weren't shaking.

"So, you want to talk about Neil? Is there anything I need to know?"

"My problems are my own," Arthur mumbled back a reply. "I didn't stop you from coming because I knew you would regardless of what I said."

"You really wanted to do this on your own?"

Arthur didn't look up. "I've always done things on my own… as long as I remain in control, then I'll be fine."

"Are you telling me that or you that?"

"I don't know."

Sometime during the flight, Arthur drifted off to sleep on Eames's shoulder. Eames knew then that despite their bickering, the comfort Arthur had appeared to find with Eames back in the bar so long ago was still there.

…and somehow he now believed that having Arthur's trust was something very important, and very unlikely to achieve.

* * *

"Love, we're here."

Arthur stirred rather quickly. "Where…" he started, but his brain started functioning again after a moment.

They exited the plane and the terminal quickly, but almost immediately they both discovered that they didn't know where to go next.

Arthur decided to stand and smoke a cigarette for awhile. Eames noted that Arthur did this whenever he was nervous.

While they stood there, Eames, smoking as well, started putting together what little pieces he had. Arthur was actually Neil McCormick from Hutchinson, Kansas. No criminal record. He had reservations about his hometown, and he absolutely despised New York. His best friend used to be Eric (Eric Preston, as Arthur had revealed at least this much information). Wendy cared about him deeply, and could possibly have been a lover (though he really wasn't sure, and he didn't feel like it was his place to ask). There was something about the geek boy and the man in the baseball hat that bothered him… and apparently something so terrible had happened to Neil McCormick that Arthur had decided to erase him from the earth completely.

It wasn't much.

"Let's go," Arthur said, stamping out his cigarette butt.

"Go where?"

Arthur shrugged. "Wherever… it's changed a lot since the last time I was here…"

* * *

They walked for a long time, despite the heat. It had to be nearly 100 degrees outside, but, unlike in Spain, Arthur didn't seem to be noticing it at all. He was a bit preoccupied with the new yet eerily familiar scenery.

"Do you have déjà vu yet?" Eames asked after far too much silence.

"Yes," Arthur said, coming to a stop.

It was a swing set, a playground really. It was old and rusty, with gravel all along the ground.

"You used to play here?" Eames asked.

"Not exactly," Arthur replied, pushing the swings out of the way and standing in the middle of the park, staring out at the chain-link fence and line of trees. "Wow, does it feel weird to be back at this place…" The words came out in a breath.

Eames shoved his hands in his pockets and took a seat on one of the swings.

Arthur ran his hand along the slide, gripped it. He wandered the playground for ten to fifteen minutes, and paused for a good, long time to stare at the road. Eames was impatient, but he knew that Arthur had just barely managed to bring himself to this place.

Arthur looked back at Eames then. "This was the place… Jesus, I can't believe that I'm here."

"This was the place for what?" Eames couldn't help but ask as he stood.

Arthur rubbed his mouth with his palm. "Follow me."

Eames did. Arthur lead him to a dank, nasty public restroom, covered in graffiti, obviously no longer in use. It was boarded up, and Eames was surprised at how easily Arthur ripped the boards off. They stepped inside, and Arthur showed him to a part of the wall that had been written and drawn upon.

"Take a look at that," Arthur said, pointing to the writing.

Eames squinted at the small, faded writing and read aloud, "Fridays and Saturdays, three to four… Young and willing… What's the point of this exactly?"

"That was me," Arthur said.

Eames looked at Arthur and then back at the wall. "…what?"

"That was me. Back when I was young."

Eames swallowed, trying to form words in his impossibly dry mouth. "You… were a prostitute?" he finally managed to say, feeling queasy.

Arthur shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"What do you mean _you guess_?" Eames's mind was swirling, and he felt like he was no longer on solid ground. The very idea of Arthur being…

"I thought of it more as hustling," Arthur replied, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"But you… hustled sex."

"Pretty much."

"To _who_?" The moment the question escaped his lips, he felt like it was a stupid question.

Arthur shrugged again, turning to leave. "Everyone. I fucked every guy who came by the park. Several times."

"Gu-guy. They were all men?" Eames followed after him, but his feet were unsteady so he nearly tripped.

Arthur was so damned nonchalant about it that Eames couldn't stand it. He spoke of the whole thing casually, as if it was a story he'd heard on the news a couple of days ago, and they were just making conversation. "Of course they were. Why else would I have written it in the men's room?"

"So, you're gay?"

Arthur turned around to face Eames but continued walking. "You are full of stupid questions today, Mr. Eames… but you should know that prostitutes cater to their market regardless of preference. Yes, I'm gay. Well… Neil is gay. Arthur doesn't fuck with anyone."

Eames was having trouble accepting what he'd just heard, and he stuck his hand in his pocket to rub his totem, just to make sure. Arthur being a whore was just ridiculous enough to only happen in a dream. He just couldn't process it.

Arthur was a hell of a forgery, that was for sure.

When he saw Arthur's eyebrows knit together, Eames plastered on a smile to avoid causing an argument for the moment. "So, you're telling me that all those times I teased and flirted with you, I was actually working towards something?"

Arthur smirked back at him, turning back around and folding his hands behind his neck. "If I had been Neil, I probably would have fucked you within the first twenty minutes of meeting you. You're just his type."

Eames felt like he could use a long sleep, and they'd barely just begun. He supposed prostitution was a good reason to reinvent oneself, but… he didn't have a police record to speak of, so he'd never been caught. He didn't have to completely destroy Neil, only change his profession. Yet…

"Where are we going now?" Eames asked, jogging a bit to catch up with Arthur.

He shrugged again. "To be honest, I only came here because I don't know if I have the guts to go see any of the people I used to know. I'm not really sure what I would say… Preston probably has his own assumptions for why I left, and he'll be mad at me until he sees me again… Mom though… She has no idea why…"

"Well, neither do I," Eames offered.

"I don't… even know completely why I left anymore… it's all kind of a blur…" He slowed to a stop and dropped his arms to his side, staring at the grass. It was yellow and dead from the heat. "I just… lost control of myself."

"Well, if you're going to continue to claim you and Neil as separate people, you can always just say that he did, not you."

Arthur glanced over his shoulder at Eames, smiling ruefully. "It _is _pretty stupid, isn't it."

Eames placed a hand against Arthur's back. "It's hard to distinguish between you and the other person sometimes. Let's go visit your mum. I bet she'll be happy to see you."

Arthur sighed, defeated. "Maybe."


	4. 3: Home

_**Chapter 3: Home**_

Arthur stood across from an old, small yellow house, front door hidden mostly by bushes, yard dead like most of the grass in the city. There were rocks lining the driveway up to the garage, and it could definitely use some new shingles on the roof.

"I half expected a 'for sale' sign to be in the yard… It's possible that it was already sold. Without me around, she really didn't have a reason to stay… not that she could afford to leave, but…"

"This is where you used to live?" Eames asked, feeling stupid as soon as he said it. Arthur was right. He was full of stupid questions today, but he almost felt like he needed to confirm everything that was happening.

Arthur didn't chastise him for his questioning this time, instead swallowing the lump in his throat. "Yeah… and it's exactly like it was when I left… except that the bushes are a little higher."

Eames looked at Arthur's hands. They were shaking, no matter how hard he tried to control them.

"Can you do this?" Eames asked him quietly.

"I don't want to… but… if I'm going to face things, I'm going to have to."

"Want me to hold your hand?" Eames teased, trying to ease the tension.

Arthur scoffed, but there was a hint of a grateful smile.

They approached the door together, but Arthur's fist only hovered before it. "What am I going to say to her…?"

"Guess you'll find out," Eames replied, knocking for him.

Arthur stared at him in horror. Eames took Arthur's fist and gently pushed his arm so it was down at his side again. "Smile pretty for your mum."

The door opened.

It was a man, shirtless. He was tall, gray-haired but otherwise very good-looking. He stared bewilderedly at the men in the doorway. "Can I help you?"

"I'm…" Arthur's voice was weak, trembling, but under control. "I'm looking for Ellen McCormick… is she here?"

"Why?" the man asked suspiciously.

Arthur just looked at his feet pathetically. "I… just need to talk to her… If she can't talk, I can come back later-"

"Whatever, whatever," the man replied, rolling his eyes. "Hold on."

Arthur jumped a bit as the man turned away, shouting, "ELLEN! There's some guys at the door for you!"

Eames's hand was still on Arthur's fist, and he felt his fingers lace into his, grasping tightly to his hand. Arthur grinded his teeth and breathed a few shuddered breaths.

"Who is it?" she asked the man as she approached the door.

"I dunno," the man shrugged and made his way back into the house.

She paused behind the screen door, and Eames thought she was quite pretty with soft curls of reddish hair and pink lips. There was a long moment, or at least it felt like a long moment, where she just stared through the screen at the two of them.

Eames felt Arthur squeeze his hand tightly before releasing it. Eames looked at him.

He was stiff as a board, jaw set, but his blue eyes were brighter than he'd ever seen.

The screen door flew open, and the woman's arms were around Arthur's neck before Eames could even blink, and she was sobbing, loud and ugly into his shoulder.

Eames awkwardly met eyes with the man who had come back with a shirt on. He didn't seem to know what was going on.

Arthur made a small sound.

Eames watched almost in wonder, as he pulled his arms around the woman's back and shut his eyes, trembling.

Eames hoped that Arthur didn't notice the single tear that escaped the corner of his eye. He tried not to notice it either.

"What's going on?" the man asked, coming to the doorway.

"He's her son," Eames told him.

"I thought he was dead," the man whispered, understandably stunned.

Eames decided it was for the best to not tell him that he was.

* * *

Ellen McCormick finally calmed her tears after smearing mascara all over Arthur's waistcoat.

Arthur sat stiffly on her couch, no longer comfortable in a spot he'd been many times. _The Price is Right_ was playing on the television, but no one paid it any mind.

"D-do you want anything to drink? A beer or soda? Are you hungry?" Ms. McCormick asked, and she couldn't take her eyes off of Arthur.

"A beer would be lovely," Eames said, giving her his million dollar smile.

"Water is fine…" Arthur mumbled, unable to take his eyes off of her either. "…Mom."

Her eyes welled with tears again, and she just smiled and vanished into the kitchen. Her boyfriend of the moment, Mark, had left, figuring she needed some time with her son. Arthur remarked quietly to Eames as the man left that this was not typical of her boyfriends in the past. Eames made his own assumptions about her from there.

"I hope this brand is okay," Ellen said, handing Eames an ice cold bottle of Budweiser.

She handed Arthur a glass of water with just a little ice, the way he liked it. As he took the glass, her hand ran across his cheek, stayed there for a long time. Arthur's gaze faltered only slightly.

"All these years," she whispered, stroking his cheek lovingly, "I tried to figure out what I would say to you if I saw you again. I wanted to be upset with you, Neil, I did… but when I saw you, I just… I forgot about all of that. God… I missed you so much."

And she was a mess of tears and mascara again, and he watched as Arthur wiped her tears away with his thumb in a strangely intimate way.

"What happened? Where did you go? Why did you go?" she asked weakly, and she was sitting in his lap, curled in his arms, and he was rocking her gently as if he were her parent rather than the other way around.

"I'm sorry," he whispered back, staring at the ceiling. "I'm so sorry."

It didn't sound like his apology was just for her, and Eames wondered if he was apologizing to himself for being away for so long.

Eames swigged at his beer but never tasted it.

Arthur, feeling uncomfortable with her questions hanging unanswered in the air, said, "Oh, I guess I forgot to introduce Mr. Eames..."

She smiled at him. She had a very warm, inviting smile. "Thank you, Mr. Eames," she said, "for bringing my Neil back to me."

"It was my pleasure," Eames replied coolly.

"He's British, huh?" she grinned, pressing her forehead and nose to Arthur's. "Very cool."

"He's really not," Arthur replied, and he smiled while she kissed his cheeks.

Eames took another gulp of his beer, trying not to feel like he was in the middle of something he shouldn't have been, like he was at a party he wasn't invited to.

* * *

Ms. McCormick made Spaghettios for dinner, since she didn't have anything else to prepare. It was the strangest sight, Eames thought, watching posh and dapper Arthur scooping the microwaved pasta into his mouth slowly. He didn't eat much, but he downed two beers.

"So, what's up with the suit and hair, Neil?" his mother asked. "You look so sophisticated."

He gave a nervous smile. "I wear it for work. I actually like wearing it."

"Well, you look handsome in whatever you wear," she said, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Where do you work?"

"I'm… freelance," Arthur replied carefully. "I do a little bit of everything. Eames and I work together."

She wrapped her arms around his, humming peacefully to herself. It was as if the moment he stepped through her door, everything went right again. "Well, you may have to quit your job. I don't know if I'm ever gonna let you out of my sights again."

Arthur rubbed her back and looked at Eames who was sitting across from him. "I… I'm gonna come back and visit from now on, I promise… I was nervous about coming back. I really didn't know what was going to happen between us."

"Oh, God, Neil…" she cooed. "Never… _ever_ be afraid to come home."

Arthur never took his eyes off of Eames, as if he was trying to find an answer inside the forger. "I won't. I'm sorry."

"Why did you leave?" she asked, voice airy and light, as if she had just woken up from a sweet dream.

"I was looking for something."

"Did you find it?"

"…Yeah. Sort of."

She knew him well enough not to ask.

* * *

She had been so apologetic when she told Eames that she had nowhere for him to sleep besides the couch, but Arthur assured her that they would just get a hotel room, and he'd come back by in the morning to have coffee with her. She had outright refused to let him leave at first, and when he assured her that he would definitely be back, she hugged him and wouldn't let go for a very long time.

It was late at night, so she called them a cab, and kissed Arthur's cheeks and mouth and forehead and nose, and told him how much she loved him over and over and over again.

In the backseat, Eames watched Arthur sink into the upholstery. He looked exhausted.

"You never told her, did you?" Eames asked.

Arthur tilted his head in Eames's direction, confused.

"About your job, I mean. Your old job."

"Would you have told your mother?" Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows.

Eames half-smiled, chuckling a bit. "So, I bet it felt good to see her again, didn't it?"

"She hasn't changed at all," Arthur replied quietly.

"You don't sound too pleased. Didn't you miss her?"

"Yes…" Arthur replied, turning to look out the window at the other cars. That didn't seem to be what was bothering him, but he wouldn't tell Eames what was.

As soon as they entered the hotel, Arthur sighed, dropping his suitcase next to Eames's yellow duffel bag. "What are the fucking odds?" he asked, almost laughing, though he looked visibly upset.

"What, that the room would only have one bed? They said this was the only one available," Eames replied, shrugging out of his button-down.

Arthur eyed him, bare chest and tattoos, and Eames couldn't tell what was behind his gaze. "I'm not a stranger to sharing a bed with a guy," Arthur said. "My first blowjob for money was in this room."

Eames didn't sleep that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Arthur… no, Neil… sprawled across the bed with another man on top of him. He saw him gripping to the headboard, gasping, moaning… His imagination ran wild, and his body started acting accordingly. Arthur's body heat so near to his shoulder didn't help.

And he still slept in that bloody suit too.

* * *

Eames fell asleep sometime during the morning without realizing it until he awoke to the sound of the door closing.

"Hey," Arthur greeted, pulling open the curtains. He had a cigarette.

"Morning, love," Eames mumbled, voice heavy with sleep. "You go somewhere?"

"My mother's."

Eames yawned, rolling onto his back and rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Ten. I had to convince her to go to work, you know. I had to lie and tell her I didn't have a cell phone to keep her from calling me on the hour."

"She just missed you," Eames said, clambering to his feet and stretching. "That is the most uncomfortable mattress I've ever slept on."

"Is that why you barely slept?" Arthur asked.

Eames didn't answer. "Did you shower yet?"

"I showered at home."

"Well, now I'm going to."

"Be my guest." His mood was somewhat light, considering the pressure on him for the passed days. Eames figured that despite some apprehension, Arthur was happy to have seen his mother again. He lounged on the mattress, hands behind his head, before he suddenly changed his mind about his position.

"Care to join me?" Eames teased.

All of his humor disappeared so fast that Eames was left reeling when Arthur said, cold as ice, "Fuck off."

* * *

The shower head liked to go cold unexpectedly, Eames discovered quite suddenly when he was in the middle of shampooing his hair. He cursed under his breath as what felt like ice water hit him along the shoulder blades and stepped out of the stream of water until it warmed again. Eames hated hotel showers for that reason, but it didn't feel quite as cold as Arthur's frigid response to his teasing. He couldn't figure out why on earth he was so defensive about being naked. He used to be a prostitute, so his body image was probably the least of his concerns.

Eames couldn't help but wonder if Arthur may have had some sort of sexually transmitted disease… but despite his old lifestyle, he was pretty sure he would have found out about that before now.

He turned off the water and dried off, deciding on a pair of jeans and a shirt the color of Arthur's true eyes. After oiling his hair, because he was sure Arthur was probably going to bitch about his jeans, he escaped the steam of the bathroom to find Arthur sprawled out on the bed, asleep.

He apparently hadn't slept well either.

Of course, Arthur hadn't slept well for a long time. It was bizarre how comfortable he was on the creaky mattress, as if it was more home to him than the arms of his mother.

Though… his relationship with his mother was… odd. It was apparent right away that Arthur's father had never been in his life, and the mentioning of many boyfriends led Eames to believe that she got around. Her son becoming a prostitute was proof enough that she had to have done _something _wrong. It was odd to watch the two of them together. She treated him more like a roommate or one of her boyfriends than her son. He seemed to be there to take care of her, rather than the other way around… There was a dependence, that was for sure, but Eames wasn't about to question why Arthur let her do it. Of course he would. She was his mother. Eames would have done the same for his mother, without question, but he believed that their relationship was quite a bit more… normal…

As soon as Eames moved in the room, foot lightly shoving his duffel bag, Arthur stirred, raising his head sleepily to inspect the room.

"Want to get breakfast?" Eames asked.

Arthur shrugged, sitting up. "I fell asleep?"

"Seems that way."

Arthur looked around the room slowly, as if he expected someone else to be there with them. Before Eames could question it, however, Arthur stood, pulling the wrinkles out of his trousers, and said, "where do you want to eat?"

* * *

Eames had decided on McDonald's, but by the time they had gotten there, breakfast was no longer being served. Arthur only got fries and a soda, while Eames got a full meal with everything on it. "You're not going to eat anything more than that, darling?" Eames asked.

"I had some breakfast at my mom's," Arthur replied, twirling a fry between his thumb and index finger.

"Then why did you say you wanted to get breakfast?"

"I didn't. I figured you were hungry though, and since you're not familiar with Hutchinson, I came along…"

Eames couldn't know for sure, but there was something in the way Arthur wasn't looking at him that made him believe that Arthur had come along for more than Eames's benefit. He didn't say anything about it, knowing he'd deny it vehemently. "How'd you sleep?" Eames asked.

"All right… I guess… not any worse than usual. What was wrong with you?"

"Just the mattress."

There was a smirk on Arthur's lips then, and Eames almost felt nervous that he knew what had really gotten him literally hot and bothered, but he didn't say anything about it.

"So, what are your plans for today?" Eames asked, smiling, trying to dismiss the images that had started conjuring in his brain again when he thought about last night.

"I don't know."

"Well, you knew more than your mother, right? Surely she's told everyone you're back now."

"She told me that Eric works down the road in a bar. She said I should go see him. I don't think she told him though."

"Tell me about Eric."

Arthur sucked on the straw of his soda. "Eric was my best friend in high school. He and Wendy and I would do everything together. He and I got along really well because he was queer like me. He got picked on for wearing makeup and listening to goth music, but I set those motherfuckers straight. He was a good guy. Better friend than I deserved."

"You said you'd figure he'd be happy to see you, right?"

"Yeah, he will. He's just that kind of person. I'm not worried about that."

"You just don't know how you're going to respond."

"Yeah, I guess a little. Same thing as it was with my mom. It might be hard to talk to him, you know? I'm not the same person I used to be, and he's probably changed some too… or maybe he'll be just the same, like mom. I don't know."

"Why did it bother you that she was the same?"

Arthur stared at him for a long time, and his eyes were hypnotic to the point that Eames couldn't look away. There was, however, no answer with or without words.

Eames decided on another question. "So, after we go see your dear old mate, Eric, then what? We go see Brian, perhaps? Or that geeky kid from your dream?"

Arthur frowned. "Brian is that geeky kid from my dream… and I don't know if I want to see him."

"Not so friendly with Brian?"

"We barely knew each other."

"Then what makes him so important?"

Arthur, instead of answering, took Eames's half-eaten burger and took a bite out of it, ketchup spreading across the left side of his mouth. "You put too much stuff on this. How do you even taste it?"

Eames pouted a little. Arthur was continually just as difficult to read as before, but for some reason it bothered Eames more than it used to. He was sure it was just his curiosity over his past that wasn't being sated.

That was all.


	5. 4: God

_**Chapter 4: God**_

Arthur had rented a car for the two of them to travel around in. It was black with leather interior and in fairly good condition, but Eames wouldn't have cared if it had been a piece of shit as long as it had air conditioning.

The drive around town was fairly peaceful, the two of them only talking casually. Arthur actually did most of the talking, indicating different places around the city that he was familiar with. Eames learned the location of the high school Arthur went to and dropped out of. He found out where Wendy used to live, and the bar and grill where he and Eric used to hang out. They spent a long time at the baseball field where Arthur used to play little league.

"I didn't take you as a baseball fan," Eames mentioned, leaning against the stands while they watched the children practice.

"I wasn't really. My mom signed me up so she and her boyfriend could fuck around without hiring a babysitter."

"I played rugby and football and cricket when I was young. I had a good time. Admittedly though, you don't seem like the sports type."

"I was the best player on the team," Arthur replied proudly, "not that that's saying much, considering everybody else on the team sucked."

Eames laughed. "So, you enjoyed it then."

Arthur's smile faded, and his gaze was as distant as it had been back when they'd first met up in New York. If anything, his blue eyes added to the vastness.

"Arthur?"

He jumped. "What?"

Eames just shook his head. "You were spacey. You want to go back to the hotel and snooze for awhile?"

"No… no, I'm fine."

He stood, stretching. "After I got older, I had a part time job working as the announcer for baseball games. I've had enough of baseball in my lifetime."

"Hooking just wasn't enough for you?" Eames teased, though he couldn't help but worry that it might have been too soon.

Arthur just chuckled, however. "My mom had to believe I was getting money from somewhere… Also, I _hooked_ as you so delicately put it while I was working in the booth too, sometimes."

"Are you fucking _serious_?" Eames said. He was glad he hadn't been eating, or he would have choked. "Bleeding Christ, Arthur!"

Arthur looked over his shoulder at Eames. "What? It's not like it's difficult."

"But… how is it, I don't…"

"Yeah, he was just under the table, and we'd stop whenever I had to say something. I did miss a cue once in awhile, but only twice or something like that. Shit, I'm out of cigarettes."

Eames sighed heavily, slumping against the car once they'd returned to the parking lot. "Forgive me for saying this, darling, but… why do you talk about all this like it's no big deal?"

Arthur unlocked both doors and slipped into the driver's seat. "To me, it really… isn't. It's just something I did. With all of the crazy things I've done in dream work, it doesn't seem all that weird… well, maybe it does. Maybe I'm just making excuses. I guess it's hard for me to feel ashamed of something that I basically pretend never happened. I just think 'well, I'm Arthur, not Neil' and I don't worry about it anymore."

"And you think you're mentally stable," Eames said, though he was smirking.

"I'm in control," Arthur replied, voice steady. "I know it's fucked up, but as long as I'm in control, I'm fine. Arthur never lets anything get out of control, and so I'm fine."

Eames wondered how fine with it he was with the way his hands gripped the steering wheel. "But, you're still Neil… so, are you actually all right?"

"Are you worried?" Arthur asked, and he wasn't mocking, wasn't concerned. He was deadpan as always. It was nothing more than a simple question.

"Just curious," Eames replied, and that was all it was. Really.

Arthur sighed. "My feelings are different than they used to be. Believe it or not, I actually used to be proud of what I did, even though I see now how stupid that was. I thought I was so fucking smart, getting paid to sit back and enjoy myself."

"What changed that?"

"Lots of things."

"Like…"

Arthur didn't take his bait. "Do you have any cash on you? I need to pick up some smokes." He pulled into a gas station parking lot.

Eames fished his wallet out of his back pocket. "Pick some up for me as well, and one of those slurpies."

Arthur rolled his eyes and took the money, strolling inside. He looked out of place in his tie and trousers and waistcoat. He looked out of place in the gas station, and he looked out of place at the hotel, and he looked out of place in Hutchinson period, and Eames had decided that he had done this on purpose. Arthur's persona was pretty much the exact opposite of Neil McCormick.

But _why_?

Eames was finding it very hard to not become sour over not knowing, but he did his best to not let it show.

* * *

"Why do you sleep in your clothes?"

Arthur's cigarette stopped short of his mouth, but he didn't take his eyes off of the road. "Why do you ask?"

"Curious."

"You're very curious over me, Mr. Eames."

"You're very secretive towards me, Mr. McCormick."

"You never thought for a minute that I just wear my suits when I sleep in hotels because there's no telling what's been going on in those beds?"

Eames laughed a bit, sucking on the straw of his slurpie. "You would know, I suppose, but you go to sleep with your waistcoat and tie and belt and everything. I'm shocked that you don't wear your shoes."

"We're here…" Arthur exhaled and put the car into park.

Eames hadn't realized it until now, but Arthur had just brought them to where Eric worked, the local Chili's. He had been driving around all day, obviously avoiding this, and now, at five, they were here. Eames wondered if Arthur found facing Eric as more appealing than answering his questions.

"Oh, good," Eames said instead. "We'll get dinner and drink until we pass out. You know, if we can get inside." The place was packed as expected at five.

"You can drink, but if you get so plastered that you can't stand, be aware that I'm leaving you behind. I will not have you puking in the rental car."

"Don't insult me! I hold my alcohol far better than that, darling."

Arthur shut the door to the car.

* * *

"Hello, welcome to Chili's," the hostess greeted, though she didn't sound very welcoming. The way she was popping her gum reminded Eames of the mousy blonde, and it immediately made him frown.

"Is Eric here?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah," she said. "You wanna sit in his section?"

"Yes, please."

"Why bother being polite to her?" Eames asked as soon as she'd sat them. "She was annoying as hell."

Arthur raised his eyebrows, wrinkling his forehead. "Was I being polite? Next time I'll tell her to fuck off, and I'll sit myself."

The smile that she had wiped away from his face returned. Arthur smiled right back at him, almost smugly. Eames found the smile surprisingly alluring, and he hadn't even started drinking yet.

Eames spotted Eric then, and he knew it was him because he was checking on a booth two tables down from theirs. Eric was tanned, dark-headed with a Caesar cut hairstyle. He had several piercings, much like Wendy had, and his eyes were lined with coal black. He was horribly skinny (much like Arthur but even worse) and looked exhausted, but his smile was friendly and sweet, and he seemed to have a positive outlook despite working in a restaurant.

Arthur stared into his menu when Eric approached. "Howdy, boys," Eric greeted in a sing-song voice, and Eames decided that he liked him. Normally he didn't like people who talked the way Eric did, but there was something in the way he did it that was charming. "My name's Eric, and I'll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with any drinks or appetizers?"

Arthur lowered the menu, it slapping against the table and said only, "you still drive that piece of shit Gremlin?"

Eric's smile vanished, and his expression was replaced with confusion, then astonishment. Arthur stared up at him with no fear whatsoever.

Eames waited for five seconds of staring before saying, "I'll have a Jack and Coke please, and the spinach and artichoke dip."

He watched Arthur's stern, serious expression falter as he tried to suppress a grin. "What're you staring at, Preston?"

"I'm… thinking I might have gotten bludgeoned in the parking lot and this is all some big coma dream, McCormick," Eric replied, hiding the fact that he was near tears with sarcasm. Eames silently commended him for writing down his order even as he was dealing with this sudden reunion.

Eames watched as Arthur tossed his red loaded die onto the tabletop. "We're not dreaming," he told him. "Just bring me a Dr. Pepper, and I'll share the dip."

Eric huffed, still writing as the good waiter he was (or perhaps he just wanted to appear busy in case the manager came by). "Really? That's all you're going to say? I ought to take you out to the parking lot and beat the shit out of you, you know. Where the fuck have you been?"

Arthur smiled. "You say that like I left last week."

"Days, weeks, months, years, it's all the same to you, isn't it, McCormick?"

Arthur reached up and wiped a stray tear from the side of Eric's face. "Yeah, maybe it used to be."

Eric grabbed hold of that hand and squeezed it. "Don't make me a mess at work, or I'll never forgive you."

"You always forgave me for a lot of things you said you wouldn't."

"I'll be back with your drinks and appetizer."

As soon as he left, Arthur sat back with a sigh. "I bet you he's going into the kitchen to call Wendy."

"She may make a trip down here then as well."

"Doubt it. She can't afford the ticket. She'll just demand he bring the phone to me so she can bitch at me that way."

"I'll admit that you responded pretty coolly to this reunion… considering how you avoided it all day, and all."

"I wasn't avoiding anything," Arthur replied, digging out one of his recently purchased cigarettes and handing one to Eames as well. "My mom told me that he didn't work until the evening, so I found some other places to show you. I figured you'd complain if I didn't give you something to do, since you're so desperate for stimulation."

"So you weren't nervous about seeing him again?"

"Not particularly. I'm not really sure what to say to him, but I wasn't afraid to face him."

Eames leaned his cheek on his hand, playing with the pages of the menu without really looking. He didn't realize he was staring until Arthur looked up from his own menu.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"Of course not," Eames replied quickly. "What are you having?"

* * *

Eric was the perfect waiter. Friendly, attentive (possibly more than usual considering he was always checking to make sure Arthur hadn't up and left on him again), and never got one bit of their order wrong. Eames and Arthur stayed around for awhile, drinking and carrying on, following the unspoken agreement that they couldn't leave without talking to Eric first.

Eames had to admit that he was more than a little buzzed by the time dinner was over. It must have been while he audibly slurred to Arthur that he was happy to see him eating. "You really don't eat enough, you know," he said. "You just don't think about it, or what?"

"No need to be so concerned, Eames," Arthur replied, sipping at his drink. He was a bit flushed from his own consumption, but he'd been backing off so he'd be okay to drive. "Keep talking like that, and I'll think you're my mom."

"I am far too manly to be your mom."

"Do you want dessert?"

Eric came back then, looking wiped out, and after a quick glance over his shoulder, sat down at the table with them. "I'm still pissed at you," he told Arthur.

"I know," Arthur replied, but he was smiling while he put an arm around Eric's shoulder.

Eric leaned his head on Arthur's shoulder and shut his eyes for a long time. "What I wouldn't have given to be able to do this back then… Welcome back, McCormick. I hope you have an explanation."

"I wish I had one for you, but I really don't. I figure you'll just assume I'm lying and make up your own story anyway."

"Probably. It's not as if you're a beacon of truth in a world of lies."

"Are you kidding me? He's a terrible liar!" Eames exclaimed suddenly, unable to keep the volume of his voice controlled after all of the alcohol he had consumed.

"I am not," Arthur replied, smirking at Eames. "I only appear as such because you're so good at it."

"So, who are you, anyways? Don't tell me you're actually in a committed relationship, Neil. Not Neil. Not 'I fuck who I want when I want' Neil."

"He's a co-worker of mine, and no, not in that. I don't do that anymore."

Eric looked as though he could have cried out of relief. "Seriously? Oh, my God, Neil, you could have told me you were the Messiah, and I wouldn't have been happier!" He threw his arms around his neck.

"Probably because you wouldn't have believed me."

Eric hummed in agreement before pulling away. "Wait… why did you quit?"

Arthur swallowed uncomfortably and looked towards Eames, much like he had back at his mother's home. "I just couldn't… do it anymore."

"So… you didn't catch anything."

"Of course not," Arthur replied, eyebrows furrowing. Eames took a swig of his drink.

Eric breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. I was worried. All these years I thought you were in the beds of dozens of different Johns, and there was no telling what you could have gotten from them. Even if you're careful… and you already got crabs once."

Eames spit in mid gulp.

"Could we _not_ talk about that in a restaurant please?" Arthur asked, though he seemed to be resisting the urge to laugh uproariously at Eames.

"Well, Jesus, McCormick, it's not like it was that unlikely in your line of work… but damn, if you didn't clean up good. What are you doing now that gets you to dress so fancy? If you hadn't said anything to me from the get-go I wouldn't have recognized you at all."

"You've heard about the people who work in dreams, right?" Arthur asked.

"I… may have heard about it on the news once. That's illegal, right?"

"So's hustling," Arthur replied, downing the rest of his drink. "Legal is far too boring for people like me and Eames."

"Are you even stable enough to do stuff like that?"

Arthur scowled. "What the fuck does that mean?"

Eric held up his hands defensively. "Sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."

Eames knew that he did. Maybe he knew something that Eames didn't, but there was no way to be sure.

"Just… I'm happy that you're being safe now. You are, right? You're not just fucking guys for free are you?"

"I am not," Arthur replied. "Why are you so worried? I told you that I don't do that anymore."

"I can't help it."

There was a long moment of silence between them, and he saw Arthur look at Eric, really _look_ at him… and suddenly the air was heavy and felt ten degrees colder.

"Eric…" Arthur mumbled, and Eric wouldn't look him in the eyes. "Eric, are you… are you sick?"

An impossibly long moment.

"It's stupid, really… all those years that I was careful, and you were fucking whoever you wanted, and I still ended up this way." He was smiling, but he was teary eyed. The smile was the only thing keeping him from going to pieces. "It was one stupid mistake, just one time, and that was all it took. That's all it ever takes, isn't it?"

Arthur looked like he had been punched in the gut, like every last bit of air had been knocked out of him. Eric still wouldn't look at him, suddenly so interested in his own hands that were wringing on the table.

"What…" Arthur started, but he couldn't decide where to go from there.

"I had moved out of town, and I thought that it was going to be special… and I get stuck back here in Hutchinson because my mom is the only one willing to take care of me. I'm lucky that nobody here knows, or I probably wouldn't have a job… and… I'm okay. Right now, I am… but…"

"Fuck, Eric…" Arthur whispered.

Eric finally turned his eyes on his once best friend, and his smile faltered. "I've got HIV, Neil."

Arthur turned his eyes desperately to Eames, as if hoping to discover it was a dream. Eames just stared back at him, hands clenched into fists on the table. He wanted to grab Arthur and drag him out of there at that moment, but he couldn't even get the strength to move one inch of his entire body.

"Dammit, Eric. This ain't fuckin' funny," Arthur whispered, and his features were wrenched in pain and anger.

"Now you're starting to sound like the Neil I remember," Eric replied pathetically. "I'm sorry… I would have told you, but I didn't know where you were."

Arthur took a few deep breaths, eyes never leaving Eames's. They were darker than Eames had ever seen. "What… Why, I… don't…"

"My boyfriend didn't know when he gave it to me. He felt so guilty when he found out that he…" Eric shut his eyes, tilting his head back, and a streak of eyeliner ran down his cheek. "It was the absolute worst thing he could have done, of course, the big jackass… You don't just put a pistol in your mouth when you want to forget something."

Arthur's whole body tensed, and suddenly Eames felt that Arthur believed that it was Neil being talked about. Maybe it was just the suicide he committed in his dream, but it didn't seem likely.

"It was just not fair that he would off himself and leave me behind all alone," Eric whimpered, head falling onto Arthur's shoulder. From the look on Arthur's face, there was something familiar about the gesture, and his hand unconsciously played with Eric's hair. "It was so hard to deal with after…"

"After what?"

Eric's expression gave off the idea that he had said too much. "Nothing. It doesn't matter."

"Tell me, Preston, or I swear to God…"

"…Do you even believe in God, Neil?"

His voice was so quiet that Eames couldn't have heard it if the restaurant hadn't nearly emptied out completely.

And then he said, "Brian. After Brian."

Eames distinctly saw the nerdy boy with the bloody nose and the look of despair and the sweater in his mind's eye. So vulnerable, hopeless.

"…after Brian what?"

"He killed himself, Neil. About a year after you disappeared. He went on this fucking bender, grew his hair out, started wearing black, screaming at people… and after awhile he just shut down completely and wouldn't come out of his room, and then…"

Arthur stood, rattling the table. "Get the fuck away from me, Preston."

"Neil."

"Leave," he said bitterly.

Eric stood, stepping away from him hesitantly. "I'm sorry, Neil."

Arthur threw money at him and walked out.


	6. 5: Obvious

_**Chapter 5: Obvious**_

Arthur left the car behind in the parking lot and just kept walking. Eames followed him without hesitation.

"Arthur," he half-pleaded. "Where are you going?"

He didn't respond.

He didn't respond to any of Eames's questions. He just kept walking, and Eames kept a good distance behind Arthur. He could feel it, even from as far back as he was, something was building under Arthur's skin. Something terrible. Something that, if released on the wrong person, could kill them. That storm he'd seen in the eyes of Neil was twisting and whirling out of control, becoming a typhoon. Eames didn't know what was going to happen, but he was more than a little apprehensive to test the theory. He was too drunk to put up a good fight, even if Eric's words had been hellishly sobering.

"Arthur," he tried again, "I thought you said that you didn't even know Brian that well. Why are you so upset?"

Still nothing. He just kept walking briskly through the streets. Eames had no idea what time it was, but it was pitch black outside. There wasn't even a moon to light the way, only the eerie pale lights of the street lamps and after awhile even those were gone.

Eames's legs were beginning to ache, but Arthur's pace never slowed. His head turned wildly at every sound, and his eyes were wide and distant and unreal.

"Arthur," Eames tried again, voice gasping out of exhaustion. Nothing. "Neil, then."

He slowed to a stop, and Eames finally closed most of the distance between them, leaning on his knees. "You do realize we've been walking for hours, right?"

Arthur's jaw was clenched tight, fists clenched just as tight. He looked unbelievably pale and otherworldly in the blue security light of the house before them, as if he was a ghost. His hair was starting to fall a bit, and he was dotted with sweat.

Eames took a moment to check his watch. It was nearly 11:30.

Arthur hunched on the ground by the cracked asphalt, exhaling a shuddered breath.

"If you expect me to carry you back to the car, you're sorely mistaken," Eames said, unable to mask his agitation in humor.

But to his horror, he quickly discovered that Arthur was not hunching on the ground out of exhaustion at all.

"God dammit!" Arthur screeched and chucked a piece of broken off asphalt towards the house, shattering a window.

Eames was stunned speechless for a moment.

Arthur scooped up another piece and swung again, it battering against the white door. "GOD DAMMIT! GOD FUCKING DAMMIT! YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO ME? GOD DAMMIT!"

"Arthur-" Eames started, his voice coming out only a croak.

The owner of the house swung open the door. "What the fuck is your problem, you lunatic?" the man shouted.

"_FUCK YOU_!" Arthur screamed back, chucking another piece of the street at him.

"Arthur, stop-" Eames tried to grab him by the arm to calm him down, but all that he succeeded in doing was getting Hurricane Arthur to whirl around and punch him so hard in the jaw that he was sent stumbling back. He could taste blood on the edge of his lip.

"FUCK YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! I WAS ONLY EIGHT YEARS OLD, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! IT'S YOUR FUCKING FAULT! IT'S ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT!"

"I'm calling the police!" the man inside the house shouted, slamming the door in just enough time to avoid Arthur's wrathful throw. Arthur took out the security light with a shatter. Shards of glass glimmered as they fell.

Eames managed to pull himself to his feet again and get his arms around Arthur before he could manage to throw another stone. He writhed against Eames's grip, screaming curses at him, demanding he let go. "Arthur, calm down! Bloody hell!"

"LET GO OF ME, EAMES!"

"No, I will not let go of you! What in God's name is your problem? Have you lost your fucking mind?"

Arthur stopped wriggling in Eames's arms, going impossibly still except for the ragged breaths escaping him. "…There is a God," Arthur said, releasing the piece of asphalt he'd been tightly gripping to, "…but he forgot about me."

A fist gripped into Eames's pale blue shirt, and Arthur buried his face against his shoulder, and the most desperate wail escaped his body. Arthur's body trembled violently beneath Eames, like he was going to rattle until he broke apart, piece by piece, and all Eames could do was stand there and feel it beneath his calloused fingertips.

Arthur sobbed louder than anyone Eames had ever heard… full of pain and desperation and a crushing, smothering loneliness. He punched Eames's shoulder several times but then lost the strength in his limbs all together. Eames was the only thing holding him up. "God damn it…" Arthur whimpered.

Eames scooped Arthur into his arms, and he felt Arthur's arms clutch to his neck. There were sirens in the distance, and Eames carried Arthur in the opposite direction, marveling to himself on how easily he'd gone back on denying taking him back to the car in his arms.

All that didn't seem to matter now. His whole body had gone numb from the feeble sounds Arthur was making into his shirt that he didn't even feel the dampness from sweat and tears and hair gel. It was like Arthur weighed nothing at all as he carted him back to the car. He wasn't sure how he knew the way back, but when he opened the passenger seat of the car and set Arthur inside, he finally became aware that he was back in the Chili's parking lot. The building was dark and empty.

Arthur wouldn't let go of his neck. "Arthur," he whispered.

"No."

Eames pried his fingers from his neck, slowly, and kissed his hand before he shut the door and got in the driver's seat. "I'm right here, love."

Arthur slumped in the passenger seat. His eyes were red and swollen. Several strands of hair were sticking to his forehead. He had smudges of dirt on him from the ground, and a little bit of Eames's blood too.

Eames started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. The streets were empty at this time of night, but he still drove slowly. The last thing he needed was anything to scare him. His hands were already shaking enough on the steering wheel.

After awhile, he asked, "what just happened?"

Arthur stared at the radio, all the fight in him diminished. "I lost control… I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Eames barked back. Arthur flinched. Eames chewed on his lower lip. "What I mean is…" he began again, gentler, "you shouldn't apologize for showing a shred of emotion."

"I shouldn't have lost control of myself though."

"You had a right to be upset."

"Not enough to vandalize someone's house."

"True."

A long moment of silence. Eames saw tears still making their paths down Arthur's cheeks.

"Do you want talk about it?"

Arthur swiped his tears away, embarrassed by them. "I guess you deserve an explanation."

"That's only what I've been saying the whole time. There was something about this particular house, right? You didn't just randomly choose it."

"It was the house of my old little league coach," Arthur sighed. "Coach Heider."

"I'm assuming he must have done something to piss you off pretty badly."

"If he had never existed, Brian would still be alive… He wouldn't have hated himself so much. He wouldn't have… well, I suppose it's my fault, really. He didn't remember until I told him, but he wanted to know the truth… and he would have remembered eventually anyways, and it probably would have hurt a lot more if he'd found it out on his own."

"Found out what exactly?"

Arthur exhaled, breath shaky. "When I was eight years old… Coach took me back to his house after a game and… we had sex."

Eames felt his stomach twist. "Pardon?"

"My coach… he molested me over the entire summer. I was his favorite. He may have fucked with other boys, but I was the only one allowed in his room. We did… everything…" Arthur looked sick too.

"And… Brian…"

"He was one of the kids he brought in. He made both of us do stuff to each other, and… well, you know, to him. After it was over, Brian, he… he just completely wiped it from his memory. He had blackouts and nosebleeds, but he couldn't remember why. He thought he was abducted by aliens. Seriously… but when I told him the truth, he just… laid on my shoulder, and then on my lap, clutching to a teddy bear like a kid… and I just wanted to do something to make it okay…"

Eames nodded, trying to keep his own breath steady.

"So… the next day, I set out to find Coach… He disappeared after that summer… though Brian saw him one more time on Halloween… and I felt like… if I found him, I could make things better. This is gonna sound fucked up, but… I thought what we had was special. I thought that he loved me, for real. I thought that, if I could find him, and he could apologize to Brian, then maybe things could repair themselves, but… I was so fucking stupid…"

"Did you find him?"

"After about two, three weeks of hitchhiking around, yeah… Heider's a pretty uncommon last name, and I figured he didn't go ridiculously far or anything."

Arthur closed his eyes for a long time, and Eames began to think he'd fallen asleep, but he started again, slowly, and he found that it was Neil talking, not Arthur.

"I showed up at his house sometime in January. I don't even remember where it was now because it's such a fuckin' blur… but… yeah, I got there and knocked and waited for what felt like hours. He opened the door, and I knew it was him… He looked so different, but exactly the same… I can't believe I fuckin' smiled at him.

"So, he looks at me for a long time, and I say something like 'I finally found you,' but he doesn't know who I am. I tell him, 'it's me, Neil.' He's let me inside by this point, and we're standing in his kitchen, and he's looking at me so weird… and I'm telling him how much I missed him, and stuff, and he just keeps_ looking_ at me. Finally, I ask him what's wrong, and he just says 'what happened to you?'"

Eames recalled the dream, the projection who Arthur had run into and subsequently killed himself to get away from. _"What happened to you?"_ he had said.

"I thought he was talking about a couple of scratches and bruises I had, so I tried to shrug it off, but… that wasn't what he was talking about. He was upset… because I was grown up."

Arthur paused in his story then to swallow the bile that had built up in his throat. Eames's hands were shaking so much on the steering wheel that he nearly drove off the road.

"It became so clear then," Arthur continued, running his hands over his face and through his hair, mussing it up even more. "I realized… that he used me… that all that love, all that time I felt special, important, number one… it was all lies. Every bit of it. I lost control then… kind of like I just did… I don't remember much… just screaming and yelling and breaking stuff… I remember yelling, 'I was eight years old! You destroyed everything about me!' or… something like that… and I went for his neck, but I just couldn't kill him… it was too quick, too merciful… So I left."

Eames finally pulled the car to a stop in front of the hotel. His parking job was horrible.

Arthur lowered his head into his hands, and his voice cracked as he said, "I put a fucking gun in my mouth that night. I wanted to die and just get rid of all the pain, but… I couldn't do it." He made a high-pitched yelp and leaned his head back on the seat. "God damn it… I felt like such a fucking idiot… Why was I so stupid to think that he loved me?… No one… _ever_ loved me."

Eames looked up at the roof of the car, blinking back tears. Arthur just sounded so… broken… "That's not true," he said, holding back the tremor in his voice as much as he could. "Your mother loves you. Eric and Wendy love you."

"My mother was so caught up in her alcohol and boyfriends that she didn't even realize what was happening to me!" Arthur shouted. "Wendy and Eric… they knew, they_ knew_ and they never tried to stop me! They disapproved, but they never once told me… 'Neil… please don't do this…' No one paid any attention… Everyone just sat back and watched. They sat back and fucking watched, Eames!" He wailed again, pressing the balls of his hands into his eyes. "When I ran away… no one looked for me."

Eames opened the driver's side door, stepped out and shut it. He came around to the passenger side and opened Arthur's door. "Come on," he said softly.

Arthur looked up at him, small and weary. "I'm sorry… I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

Eames picked him up and kicked the door shut. "It's all right, darling. Just let it out. You've been carrying this with you for far too long. I don't care if you mess up my shirt."

"It's polyester. It's already messed up."

Eames chuckled slightly, burying his nose into Arthur's hair.

He put Arthur back on his feet so that he could unlock the door of the hotel, but Arthur leaned against his shoulder the whole time. "God…" he mumbled into the fabric. "I'm such a mess. I haven't cried like this in… years… and I don't know if I've ever cried like this in front of someone else. I'm so pathetic. You must think I'm so pathetic."

"I don't," Eames assured him, opening the door. "I don't think that at all. I can't believe you've held up for so long with all of this hanging on you… Do you want to tell me what happened next?"

Arthur stepped inside, feeling lost. "Easy… I kept hitchhiking across country. At one point I found myself sitting in a fast food joint. I was sitting there by myself. I hadn't eaten in four days. I hadn't slept in five. I was drinking coffee just to stay alive. I hadn't had a hair cut or bathed or changed clothes. I was soaking wet from the rain outside. I think I was trying to get my body to kill itself, since I was too scared to do it by force. Then, all of a sudden, there's a hand on my shoulder, and I look up, and it's… this girl… College girl, obviously there for lunch. She asked me if I was okay. I shook my head and did all I could not to cry, and she sat down across from me, and asked me to talk to her. I couldn't tell her what had happened; it was too soon…"

He plopped down on the bed with a sigh. "She… took care of me. She made me come back to her dorm room and take a shower, and she fixed me a sandwich. God… it was the best sandwich I'd ever had. She even washed my clothes. I fell asleep on her futon while she stroked my hair. The next morning, she introduced me to her boyfriend, and he asked me what my name was. I had woken up a new person… I felt some sort of affection for the first time in my life… and I decided to run with it. I remembered the guy at the fast food joint's name was Arthur, so I just said that was my name… and before long, I found myself living with her boyfriend, and he started teaching me about dream work. I worked so hard to do everything perfectly. I wanted to impress them. I wanted to win their affections, to deserve it. I started dressing nicely and studying all of her textbooks. I worked so hard… I became Arthur. I left Neil in the dust… The only time I was Neil was at night, when I was alone… and I wouldn't let it come to the surface."

"It was Mal…" Eames whispered.

"Yeah…" Arthur smiled weakly. "She and Dom."

Eames leaned against the wall and dug out a cigarette. "Do you want one?" he asked.

Arthur shook his head, standing slowly. "Eames… why… Why are you here? Why did you come here with me?"

"I… wanted to," Eames replied simply, smiling. "I couldn't let you do this by yourself, and considering I'm the one who convinced you to do it, I figured I should help."

"But, why did you want to? I mean… I argue with you, I'm sure I infuriate you, I'm always kind of a jerk to you, so why…"

"You weren't comfortable with anybody else in the immediate area… also, you don't infuriate me at all. I actually quite like your company. You keep me on my toes."

"I just… I don't understand. I'm this… _wreck_ of a person, and I've been nothing but a jackass to you, but you took it all in stride."

"Maybe I'm a masochist," Eames shrugged.

Arthur approached him slowly, and a moment later, he laced his arms around his neck, hugging him as if he would fall apart should he let go. Eames was hesitant out of confusion, but he placed his hands against Arthur's back. "Arthur…" he said, and his voice was quiet and surprisingly vulnerable.

Arthur pulled back from the embrace to look into Eames's eyes. He didn't give him enough time to close them before he pressed his mouth against the larger man's mouth. It started slow, and Eames could taste everything Arthur and everything Neil, all the pieces of his broken heart and all of the disappointment… and then Arthur's tongue was trying to find entry, and Eames wasn't paying attention to what he was tasting, instead allowing him in and returning the kiss with as much force as Arthur gave. Arthur made a small noise against Eames's mouth, and he felt his body warm.

They didn't pull apart until both their chests were aching for air. The edges of Eames's vision was blurry, and he felt nearly drunk as he gasped. Arthur's breath was hot against his neck, and he noticed then that Arthur was unbuttoning his shirt. "I hate this shirt," Arthur panted. He dropped to his knees, undoing Eames's belt. "Take off the shirt."

"Yes, sir," Eames said, unable to think of anything else. He pulled the shirt from the waistband of his jeans (which were growing uncomfortably tight), and dropped the shirt to the floor. "You're not going to complain that it's not folded, right?"

Arthur was back on his feet, kissing Eames sloppily as his body grinded against Eames. His hand gripped into the forger's hair, pulling him closer, as if he was trying to devour him. Eames moved forward then, leading Arthur to the bed until they flopped onto it, the mattress squeaking and creaking beneath them. Now Eames was fumbling with Arthur's buttons and tie, mouth finding its way to his neck.

"I'll do it, I'll do it," Arthur mumbled against Eames's ear, releasing Eames's hair, pulling loose his tie, unbuttoning his waistcoat. Eames pulled open Arthur's shirt with a bit of force, a few of the buttons flying off, and he laid kisses along his collarbone. Arthur moaned, arching his back, and Eames could tell that he was eager and it had been far too long.

"How do you want to do this, darling?" Eames asked, unbuttoning his own pants. "Are you sure you want to?"

"Fuck… Eames…" Arthur breathed, glaring up at him, flushed.

That was all Eames needed to hear, and he pulled Arthur's trousers down around his ankles. He took great care to remove his shoes and socks until Arthur whined above him. "Patience is a virtue, darling," Eames said with a smile and kissed Arthur's toes.

Eames was back on him in a moment, hands against his face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones delicately. "And you're sure about this? You're not going to yell at me tomorrow, are you?"

"I won't," Arthur moaned, pressing a kiss against Eames's shoulder and one against his chest. "I promise…" He turned Eames over then with surprising ease and straddled him, pulling his shirt off and throwing it into the pile on the floor. "I hope I can thank you properly for your kindness, Mr. Eames."

He stood and pulled off Eames's underwear, adding it to the pile, and, just as Eames started to protest that there was no need to thank him, Arthur lowered his mouth onto Eames.

Eames's mind went blank, and he even saw a few stars. Arthur was an expert, that was for sure. He'd never been sucked this way in his entire life. He knew exactly what he needed to do to get him moaning and cursing and bucking against his mouth.

"_Fuck_, Arthur… Jesus…"

Arthur pulled back then. "Eames…" he breathed.

Eames stared up at him, dizzy. "Why did you stop?"

"You won't leave… will you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Tomorrow. You won't leave."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Arthur nodded slowly. "If I were to…" he paused. "Never mind." He kissed Eames again, placing his lips all down his neck and chest and abdomen.

Eames was going to ask him what he was going to say, but Arthur was sucking him again, and he forgot.

"Keep this up, and I won't be able to ravish you, love," Eames gasped.

Arthur hummed. Eames's eyes rolled back in his head, and he groaned. Just when Eames felt like he was going to come, Arthur removed his mouth and crawled up on the bed with Eames. "Well, start ravishing, Mr. Eames."

"It would… be my pleasure…" He hopped off the bed and dug his supplies out of his duffel bag before scrambling right back to his very impatient partner.

The sight of Arthur below him, against him, making little noises and biting his lip and sucking on Eames's fingers… it was like nothing he'd ever imagined. His dreams from the night before were pathetic compared to _this_. He could see why he was such a popular young boy. There was something beautiful and otherworldly about the way he writhed beneath him. It was maddening… and yet…

There was something so sad in the way Arthur moved, as if he was doing everything he could to please Eames, just like he had with Dom and Mal. He wanted to prove his worthiness. He wanted to be perfect for him.

Eames pulled Arthur's head against his shoulder, kissing his ear, and his head was swimming as he rocked back and forth. His rhythm was quickly growing faster as he moved, and yet all he could think about was Arthur trying so hard to make Eames feel good. He wanted so much to be worth _something_ to _someone_…

As Eames came, he didn't feel the tears run down his face. Arthur came a few moments later with a few strokes from Eames, and he bit into his shoulder to keep from screaming.

* * *

Sun was streaming in through the curtains when Eames awoke, running a hand through his greasy, mussed hair. His leg muscles were sore from the long trek he had made the night before, and there was a dull ache in his jaw from Arthur's punch.

_Arthur…_

Eames rolled over to check on Arthur only to find that the bed was empty, save for him. "Arthur?" he called out, voice like gravel. He crawled out of bed, found his underwear, slipped it on. A survey of the bathroom revealed that Arthur was not inside.

Eames exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Perhaps he went to his mother's…" A quick glance back at the room however, and his stomach dropped into his feet.

Arthur's suitcase was gone. All of his scattered clothes were gone.

He was gone.

"Blast it."

* * *

After a quick shower, Eames put on the same jeans he'd worn the day before and a t-shirt. He didn't bother to oil his hair this time, instead cramming his hair gel into his duffel bag with the rest of his things. He checked out of the hotel and left the room behind. He got a cup of coffee from McDonalds and returned the rental car and bought a plane ticket. His flight didn't leave for several hours, so he pulled out his phone. 11 missed calls.

Seven of them were from Wendy. There were four more from two different numbers, and Eames was sure that Wendy had given Eric and Ms. McCormick his cell number. He could almost guarantee it. He didn't return any of the calls. Instead, he dialed Arthur.

It rang for awhile but no one answered. Eames exhaled through his nose, leaning his head back on the bench. He couldn't understand what had happened.

Okay, yes, he convinced himself, that things had gotten a bit out of hand last night. Emotions were high strung and… well… yes… but he didn't understand why Arthur had up and run first thing in that morning. He figured he'd just have to ask him when he found him.

Though, that thought was a bit unsettling. Why on earth was he chasing after him with no hesitation whatsoever? Why had he been doing it all the other times before?

Curiosity just didn't sound like a good answer anymore. No one obsessed and tracked down and studied the gaze of someone they were merely curious about.

He wiped his mouth with his hand, feeling wiped out, frustrated. "Well," he said to himself, "no going back on it now. I already bought the ticket."

Of course he knew where Arthur had gone.

* * *

It was a downpour in Cobb's hometown, an almost rattling shift from the clear skies and burning temperatures of Hutchinson. He had four more missed calls, but he ignored them. Even though he'd taken a cab to Cobb's house, the rain was so heavy that he was soaked completely through by the time he reached the door.

There was a long moment between Eames's knock and the opening of the door. "Eames," Cobb said, though he didn't sound too stunned to see him.

"Hello, Cobb."

Cobb looked good. He was dressed casually, his hair was slicked but falling lose, and his goatee had been trimmed. The dark circles he used to carry around under his eyes were gone, and his skin had a healthier glow to it than it used to.

Eames decided to skip the pleasantries when Cobb stared at him. "Is Arthur here?"

Cobb furrowed his brows. "He showed up here awhile ago soaking wet, a lot like you are now. How did you know?"

"I need to see him. Where is he?" Eames tried to push passed Cobb, but he was stopped when Cobb threw his arm up in front of him, gripping the door jam.

"You know what happened to him. Tell me what's going on," Cobb demanded.

Eames stared at him incredulously. "What? But…"

"Eames…"Cobb started, and there was something in the warning way he said it that made Eames think of Arthur. Plastered across the back of Eames's pupils was Arthur's face, doing all he could to make Eames happy… swollen eyes, desperate mouth, untidy hair sticking to his face in dark curls.

"What happened to your jaw?"

"Not important," Eames replied, trying to see passed Cobb into the house. "Come now, Cobb. Let me inside."

"Tell me what happened to Arthur. Did you do something?"

Eames glared at him. "I'm not here to apologize for anything if that's what you're implying."

"Then, why _are_ you here?"

Eames opened his mouth to answer and realized he didn't have one. He instead chose the default that he'd been using all along. "Curiosity."

"Curiosity," Cobb said skeptically. "For what exactly?"

Eames sighed, shoulders slumping. He didn't really have the strength to deal with Cobb at that moment. "Arthur and I have been on a bit of an adventure," Eames said. "We've been on a trip back in time, you could say, though we surely didn't travel by Delorean. I don't think things went too well… but I need to talk to him."

"And you did all this because… you were curious."

"I wanted to find out who Not-Arthur was," Eames explained and felt stupid afterwards.

"Not-Arthur...? Care to explain?"

"Arthur and I have been working together on occasion, and I started noticing that something about him was slipping up. Arthur's a forgery, turns out, of one Neil McCormick. Don't bother looking it up, you won't find anything, and I'm not going to tell you either. I didn't learn any information that he didn't willingly supply me with, and I'm not about to go spilling it out now, not when I've earned his trust."

Eames felt like he was coming across more desperate than he intended. In fact, by the look on Cobb's face, he was sure of it.

"Eames," Cobb said, and his voice was gentler this time, and he looked concerned. "What happened?"

"God damn it, Cobb, are you going to let me inside or not?" Eames asked, and his voice cracked, and he was most certainly acting desperate.

Cobb moved his arm and Eames shoved passed him with a little more force than necessary, just trying to get out a bit of frustration. "Eames," Cobb said again.

Eames looked back at him, wiping his face on his sleeve, even though it was just as wet. "What?"

"Curiosity didn't bring you here."

"Well, then, Mr. Cobb, enlighten me."

"I can't really do that," Cobb replied, door clicking shut behind him. "I don't know what's gone on between you two as of recent. Arthur hasn't said one word to me since he got here. I can't tell you what brought you here, so I was kind of hoping that you could tell me."

"I don't know," Eames admitted, dropping his arms to his side in a form of surrender. "I just… knew he would be here, and by the time I realized that, I'd already bought the ticket. I woke up this morning, packed, and came here. I didn't even hesitate. Arthur's past was getting the best of him, and he couldn't work, so I found him in his apartment in L.A. and took him to face his past so that he could recover and go back to work, but mostly so he wouldn't fucking kill himself. After that… I just… followed him, and he told me things, and… well… here I am. Still following him."

Cobb's hand was on his shoulder. Eames looked into his eyes, and Cobb was giving him the look a father would give a son, despite the closeness in age. Perhaps he just couldn't help himself anymore, now that he was back with his children. "Do you care about him?" Cobb asked.

Eames snorted, smiling. "I guess that would make sense, now wouldn't it? It sounds really bloody obvious when you say it." He felt nearly on the brink of tears, and that made him feel ashamed and confused and at a complete loss. "Where is he?"

Cobb pointed down the hall. "In the den."

* * *

Arthur was sitting on the couch in a pair of Cobb's pajamas. They swallowed him completely, making him appear so young and frail. He was staring at the television set but not watching it, at least he didn't seem to be considering how glassed over his gaze was. James was on the floor with Phillipa, working on a puzzle. Rain spattered against the windows, and it sounded far too loud.

Arthur turned then, feeling someone gazing at him.

"Hello, darling."

"I was wondering how long it would be before you came after me," Arthur said.

"Well, you forgot your cigarettes on the nightstand, love."

Arthur stood and approached him slowly, stopping at about two feet away. "Why did you come here?"

"I knew you would be here. Why did you leave?"

Arthur looked at his feet, running a hand through his hair. "I…" he looked back at Phillipa and James, who were now staring curiously at the two of them. "Can we continue this somewhere else?"

Eames took hold of Arthur's wrist and dragged him up the stairs to the guest bedroom, shutting and locking the door. Before Arthur could even react, Eames threw his arms around his neck and held him as if he would fall apart should he let go.


	7. 6: Black Hole

_**Chapter 6: Black Hole**_

Arthur's eyes fluttered closed against Eames's shoulder for a moment but after that moment had passed, he pulled away. "I… can't believe you came after me."

"Yes, you can. Don't I always?"

Arthur smiled weakly, touching Eames's jaw tenderly. "This looks really bad. I really fucking nailed you."

"Yes, you did. Also, you punched me in the face."

Arthur laughed a little. "Somehow, I knew you would say something like that."

"You've made me predictable, darling. Mind telling me why you up and left?"

"I'm sorry." Arthur turned then, entering the guest bathroom and returning with a towel and placing it around Eames's neck. "You should dry off or you'll catch cold."

"Arthur."

"Look… I… I'm sorry, Eames. I shouldn't have run away, but… I realized that I sucked you in and used you to make me feel better. I didn't want to do that. I've been used by everyone my whole life, and it sucks."

"Is that your way of saying that you care about me?" Eames teased, but when Arthur's face looked pained, he lost his humor. "Arthur… you didn't use me."

"Yes, I did…" he went to the window, folding his arms over his chest. "Back when I was still Neil… all of my emotions were solved with sex. When I was little, sex made me feel… special… So, I used it to make me feel important, on top of the world. It was like a drug for me. When… I was… When things got bad, and I realized what an idiot I had been… I decided to let this new me, Arthur, never get lost in passion again. Sex only leads to trouble. It fucked up my first life… it fucked up everybody in my first life. My mom is a promiscuous alcoholic dependent on male affection, Eric is HIV positive, and Brian… Brian's dead… He's _dead_, Eames. I could have stopped the whole thing from happening. I could have prevented it, but I let it happen. I told him the truth. If I had just told Coach to take me home, to leave him there in the rain… if I had just let him believe we were fuckin' abducted by aliens or some shit… He'd be alive. If he'd been alive, maybe he would have kept Eric from moving away, and then he wouldn't have met the guy who gave him HIV, and he'd be fine. It's my fault. It's _my fault_, Eames."

Arthur's hands were trembling on the window sill now, and he stared out the window as thunder cracked in the sky. "Neil was fucked up because of sex…" he mumbled, pressing his forehead to the glass. "I couldn't let Arthur be that way. I just… I needed to see that I could be happy without it in my life. Without someone to make me feel special… to really be important and not just wear a cheap imitation of importance. I studied really hard. I refined my speech. I learned how to shoot. I dressed nicely, and I was always polite. People _respected_ Arthur. Really and truthfully respected me… but I just wasn't happy. All that time, I kept thinking 'well that's great but it's all one big fucking _lie_'. My mind kept telling me how worthless I really was."

Eames's shoulders slumped at that. "You're not worthless at all."

"I'm an object of desire. I'm something to be used and then to be thrown out. That's all I've ever been, ever since I was eight… I was only eight years old. I was only _eight years old_." His voice had started to quiver and crack, and Arthur's fingers gripped so tightly to the window sill that Eames was sure for a moment that he would rip it off. "How is it… How is it that one moment in time, one memory, one _thing_ can come forth, take control of you, _define you_? How can something so trivial as one day, or one summer, go and fuck up everything in your life? What did I do… to deserve this road? Is it really just all of my fucking stupid mistakes?" He turned back to Eames and was looking at him again for answers. There were tears pooling in his eyes, and there was no way for him to hold them back. His control had been damaged the night before in the street, and he had yet to grasp it and cram his emotions back into the little box he stored them in.

Eames took a step forward, another one, and another. Arthur then stumbled to him and sobbed his same brokenhearted sounds into his chest. "It's not fucking fair, Eames!"

"I know, love… I know…" Eames said, stroking his hair.

"I ran away from you because I knew that you were making me feel things again… and if I lost what little control I had left… I didn't think I'd ever get it back… and then you came after me."

"You're always leading me on a merry chase," Eames replied, "and it is okay to lose control once in awhile, you know. It may feel like you'll never get it back but you always do."

"No. No!" Arthur shouted and shoved Eames away from him. "When I lose control of my situation, bad things happen! You don't get it! You don't get it at all!"

"Well, if you'd explain it to me, then I would get it. Please, Arthur, tell me. For God's sakes, tell me something."

Arthur shook his head and crossed to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it. Eames tried to catch him before the door shut, but he didn't.

"Arthur. Arthur, blast it!" Eames shouted, pounding on the door.

Arthur shouted out some unintelligible, horrified cries, and Eames stopped.

He'd had answers to a lot of things he hadn't before, but now he realized that he didn't know why Arthur never showered when other people were with him, why he always made sure the bathroom door was locked, even if he was just brushing his teeth, why the idea of sharing a shower with someone else turned him to ice.

He tried to coax Arthur out, but he wouldn't budge, and so Eames gave up and left him alone for the time being.

* * *

Eames didn't see Arthur for the rest of the day, but when he passed his bedroom late into the evening, he saw Arthur in his bed, dressed up and curled into the fetal position. Eames entered the room and crawled into the bed next to him, and Arthur didn't shove him away when he put his arms around him.

When morning came, Eames let Arthur sleep and went downstairs for coffee. Cobb had already made a pot and was staring over his own cup at Eames. "Are you going to tell me what's going on now?" he asked.

"I already told you," Eames said tiredly, missing his usual amusement. "I fucked up in trying to get Arthur to face his past. I thought it would make him better, but I'm beginning to think it made him worse."

"What did his past have to hide? I mean, when Mal introduced me to him, he looked pretty fucked up, but…"

"Of course he looked fucked up," Eames said bitterly, sipping at his coffee. He'd never drank black coffee before, but this morning it felt appropriate. "He was suicidal. He was trying to starve himself or deprive himself of sleep until he dropped dead. Your wife was the only person to show him any concern, so he recovered on her behalf. Thinking back on it, ever since she died, Arthur has been deteriorating. He buried himself in work after she died, didn't he?"

"He was always working hard. He was buried in work because I buried myself in work."

"You never noticed anything?"

"Arthur's perfectionism was always bad, but maybe it did get worse after Mal died…" Cobb paused, mulling it over. "Actually… it got really bad, now that I think about it. If something were to go even remotely wrong, even something small, he'd have an absolute breakdown. He seemed to get a grasp on it after a couple of months though."

Eames shook his head. "He started doing it privately because he didn't want to worry you. He didn't tell me that, but I know it's true. He's obsessed with pleasing you, Cobb. Your approval is more important to him than anything because without yours and Mal's approval, he feels worthless."

"What? Why?"

"It's not my place to say…" Eames sighed, eyes staring into the dark liquid that reminded him of Arthur's hair. "All I can say was that he was used too many times."

"By who?"

Eames stared regretfully at Cobb, silently marveling over how much he cared. "Everyone."

Cobb ran a hand through his hair. "So, what are you going to do?"

"Well, the ball has already started rolling, so now all I can do is sit back and hope that things go well."

"What does that mean?"

* * *

Arthur stood on the steps when Eames started to make his way up, and the two of them paused before one another. Arthur had appeared to compose himself on the surface, all slicked back hair, suit, and sharp angles, but his eyes were so desperately blue.

"Ah, good to see you. Glad you're here," Eames said, smiling. "I was about to come get you."

"Eames…" Arthur started, stepping off the landing and onto the stairs.

"Darling," Eames replied, stepping aside to let Arthur finish his descent down the stairs.

"Eames, I wanted to apologize about yesterday, and…"

"No worries, pet."

"But-"

The doorbell rang.

"I'll get that," Eames said, and Arthur followed hesitantly after him, peeking at the door from the hall.

The door opened, and the sound of the drizzle outside hit Arthur's ears. Eames glanced back at Arthur, but he was barely noticeable from down the hall.

"Mr. Eames. Aww, good, I'm at the right place."

Eames turned back to the door. "Hello, Wendy."

Wendy, with her hair down and looking like she hadn't slept, smiled hopefully. "When you called me yesterday, I booked a flight right away. I couldn't really afford it, but I had to… See, Eric had already called me and told me that he'd seen 'im, but…" She trailed off, and Eames knew why.

Arthur had stepped into the foyer, hands at his sides, face pale. "Boo," he said, smiling weakly.

Wendy pushed passed Eames slowly, squinting at him as if there was some sort of bright light coming off of him. "…Neil? Is that really you?"

He just nodded. "Sort of."

Eames could only watch with shock when she hauled back her fist and punched him square in the nose. Arthur stumbled back and tumbled over, holding his nose.

"Bleeding Christ!" Eames shouted with horror, shutting the door. There was sounds of Cobb on the steps, but he didn't come all the way down.

Arthur lifted his head, blood seeping from his nose. "I deserved that."

"You're damn right you did, McCormick!" Wendy shouted, and her eyes were leaking tears like they'd never cried before. "You've got some explaining to do!"

He wiped at his nose and sniffed. "I can't, Wendy. I…"

Eames touched her shoulder gently. "Right now would be a bad time."

"I'm sick of waiting around for him! I don't care if it's a bad time! I have to know!" She grasped hold of his waistcoat lapels, begging him with her eyes. There was eyeliner streaming all the way down her face.

Arthur's hands took hold of her wrists and gently pulled, allowing her to release his vest. "Wendy."

She set her jaw and exhaled through her nose. "Well?" He just stared at her. "Tell me! Tell me why you left! Tell me why you didn't come back! Do you know how long I fucking looked for you?"

And shock appeared on Arthur's face, subdued to only a raise of his eyebrows, but Eames saw it. He was sure that he saw it. "You looked for me?"

"We all did. Your mom, Eric, the police… Brian was obsessed with finding you again. He was convinced that you left because of him."

"I don't really know why I left anymore. It was just a big waste of time anyway," he replied robotically, as if he was trying to process that he had been wrong all along.

There was a long moment where they just stood there looking at each other, and Eames could feel the closeness between them was something he had yet to achieve. Wendy loved him, not like a lover, not like a brother, not like a friend. Their relationship was indescribable in every sense of the word, and yet it seemed so apparent. He glanced at Cobb on the stairs, still as stone, waiting for something to happen, prepared to step in should things get out of control.

Arthur's head dropped then, and he sniffed back blood again. "I'm sorry."

"For running off?" Wendy asked, voice shaky.

"No…well, yes, but… I've been wanting to say sorry for years… forever… for everything… but, I especially wanted to say it because you were right… about me and… about those other people I got involved with."

"Anyone could have told you that, McCormick. You don't have to apologize to me for stating out the obvious. You quit doing it anyways, so-"

"No." He shook his head. "No. I didn't, not when I said I did."

She furrowed her brows at him, staring at him in concern and confusion. "Neil?"

He looked up at her, looked passed her at Eames. His lower lip was trembling over his clenched jaw, and his fists were white-knuckled. "That night, after work at the sub shop, I took another customer."

"God, Neil," Wendy said with a sigh. "You just-"

"I'm not finished."

She shut up. Eames's gaze hardened, boring into Arthur's blue eyes.

"I took another customer," Arthur started again, and his voice was less controlled than it had been. "He just stopped me on my way home, and I figured 'why not' because I hated that job at the sub shop. I fell right back into my old ways, and I knew you'd be pissed, but I didn't care. Not then."

"Why did you do it?" she couldn't help but ask, but Eames wanted to slap her upside the head.

"I didn't feel important unless I was fucking someone. You knew that."

She didn't nod, but there was something in the shift of her body weight that revealed it was the truth. He knew her too well. "So… what?" she said instead. "What made this job different from all the rest?"

Arthur kept his eyes on Eames the whole time, and Eames realized that Arthur had been planning to tell him this on the stairs. Suddenly, he began to wonder if he wanted to know the answer to why he was so uncomfortable in the bathroom. His stomach twisted.

"Oh, God…" he whispered, and just as he realized the truth, Arthur confirmed it.

"He raped me…" His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, vulnerable.

Eames had to lean back against the wall to keep from falling to his knees, and he noticed Cobb gripping to the railing of the stairs, mouth hanging open and eyes far away, as if contemplating whether or not he'd actually heard what he'd just heard. Wendy was gaping like a fish, mouth opening and closing but unable to come up with words.

Arthur's gaze shifted to his feet. "He made me suck him, and he spit on me. He got rough, so I locked myself in his bathroom, but he broke in and hit me, and I fell into the bathtub, and that's where it happened." His voice had lost all hint of feeling, as if he was just going through the motions. He'd disconnected himself from the event. "He hit me with the shampoo bottle and kept ramming my head up against the side of the tub and calling me a slut and the next thing I knew… I woke up in the street. He'd tossed me out. He didn't even pay me."

Arthur shifted from one foot to the other. "I went home on the subway. There weren't a lot of people on the train, but not one of them asked if I was all right. No one even looked at me. I was covered in my own blood, bruised and beaten and without a coat, and no one even looked at me. I saw you asleep in bed, Wendy, but I didn't want to tell you what happened. I thought that you would be mad, so I stripped and locked myself in our bathroom. I stayed in there all night, got up before you did, and left for the airport. I tossed my bloody clothes in some hobo's fire, and I came up with a story about being mugged on the way to the airport to satisfy my mom. I didn't want you to see me that way, Wendy, and I knew you wouldn't forgive me, so I decided to go home and just… try to forget about New York completely… then, I got home, and I ended up having to remind myself as to why the hell I was so fucked up in the first place… and there was a big blur of shit and hatred… and I buried Neil McCormick, became Arthur, and tried to forget about all of that. For awhile it worked, but Neil dug himself back out, and Mr. Eames made me realize that…" he smiled half-heartedly, and tears welled in his eyes. "Well, he helped me realize a lot of things."

Wendy pressed her face into Arthur's chest, arms wrapping around him. "I'm not pissed. I wouldn't have been. You know that I wouldn't have been."

"Maybe I was just ashamed of myself."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Eames breathed, and he felt like he had been holding a breath for far too long. "You actually blame _yourself_ for what that bloody bastard… that fucking… I ought to wail on you myself!"

Wendy looked back at Eames, slowly releasing Arthur as he gently pushed her away by the shoulders.

"You should," Arthur told him. "There's nothing you can say that will make me believe it wasn't my fault. I chose to go with him. I knew the risks. I let control slip away from me, and it happened."

Eames wanted to haul off and hit him, hard. He wanted to shout the worst obscenities at him that he could think of. He wanted to do a lot of things…

But instead, he just hung his head and cried like a baby.

* * *

Wendy wouldn't leave Arthur alone for most of the day, wanting to hear about what his life was like now, trying to get him in better spirits and herself too. He told her all about dream work, and she was fascinated by the idea of it, even asked Cobb and him to let her go under just once.

Cobb had laughed at her then. "No one goes under just once," he told her.

Arthur promised her on their next get together, he'd bring the PASIV and show her what it was like. Wendy didn't hold water to his promise, since he was king of the promise-breakers, but she smiled and said 'okay' anyway.

Eames went upstairs and slept. He slept like he hadn't slept in days, in weeks, in years… and for the first time in a long time, he actually dreamed. He couldn't remember what he had dreamed about when he awoke, but he was in tears when he did, grasping at the sheets. It seemed he'd become a teary mess today, he thought. Considering he never cried at anything, it was more than a little unnerving. Eames couldn't help but wonder if Arthur was causing him to lose grasp of his own control.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, he didn't hate the idea. He wasn't like Arthur. He enjoyed losing control once in awhile (though he now understood why Arthur was the way he was, and he wasn't about to tell him to do otherwise- not now. God, he had been so foolish).

Perhaps "losing control" was too vague. Eames liked that _Arthur _challenged his control. He didn't mind letting his body do whatever it wanted when it came to Arthur (as long as Arthur let him, of course). He'd let Arthur pull on his puppet strings all he wanted in order to make him happy.

Eames had never wanted to make anyone happy before, other than himself (and maybe his mum when he was a child).

"Bloody hell, he really did suck me in," Eames remarked to himself in the mirror after washing his face.

* * *

Wendy had to go home, and Arthur and she hugged for a good five minutes before she headed off to the bus station. He promised to come visit her, pinky swore. She may have been skeptical, but Eames believed him. Cobb reassured her by saying he would drive Arthur there himself.

After she was gone, Eames found Arthur on the back porch, smoking. His forehead was leaning against the railing.

"She bruised your nose," Eames said.

"I'm lucky she didn't fucking break it," Arthur replied tiredly.

Eames took a seat next to him, staring out into the yard. Phillipa and James were playing, and the sun was shining, and things seemed brighter than they had in a long time.

"Why did you…" Arthur started.

"Cry like a bloody girl?" Eames asked, smirking knowingly. "Why do you think?"

"…I don't know… that's why I was asking."

"I cried because it upset me. It hurt me, Arthur."

"It didn't have anything to do with you."

"But it had everything to do with _you_, and that's why it hurt me."

Arthur looked at him for a long moment, realization slowly coming across his features. "Eames…"

Eames took Arthur's hand and kissed the fingers. "Don't look so surprised, darling. You're quite magnetic, you know."

"Well, then…" Arthur mumbled, blushing surprisingly innocently. "You should know something about me. I'm sure Wendy told you… I have a big black hole where my heart's supposed to be."

Eames shrugged, leaning back on the steps, smiling peacefully. "That's all right. You can have mine if you like. I won't be using it around anyone else anyway."

Arthur's eyebrows raised.

He smiled.

"Let's go out to lunch. You buy."

* * *

(Nine.)

Arthur's got a lot of issues, and being Neil is only part of the problem, but if he's willing to give Eames a chance, Eames is willing to oblige.

(Ten.)

Arthur doesn't grind his teeth anymore, and he actually owns a set of pajamas.

(That's the end. Or rather. The beginning.)


End file.
